


Wanna Hear Your Mother Tongue

by CommanderBoshtet



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora has ADHD and Anxiety, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catra & Kyle BROTP, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/F, Flashbacks, Foster Care, I wanted it so I'm writing it, I've given up on re-organizing these as I add tags pls understand, Kyle (She-Ra) Rights, Lesbian Disaster Adora (She-Ra), Lesbian Disaster Catra (She-Ra), Minor Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Minor Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra), Minor Lonnie/Rogelio/Kyle (She-Ra), Minor Netossa/Spinnerella (She-Ra), Minor Perfuma/Scorpia (She-Ra), Possible smut, Potential Triggers!!, Rogelio (She-Ra) Rights, Service Cat?Melog, Service Dog!Swiftwind, Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)'s A+ Parenting, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Trans Bow (She-Ra), Violence, catradora, dark themes, long form babyyy, unoriginal band au but it's METAL-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 130,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25645195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBoshtet/pseuds/CommanderBoshtet
Summary: Adora and Catra grow up in foster care with a horrible excuse for a parent. It sucks, but they have each other...until they don't.When Adora is taken away, Catra's life changes forever. 10 years later, Adora is an aspiring investigative journalist at Brightmoon Times writing for Glimmer, who she lives with along with their friend Bow. She thinks life is good but doesn't realize what she's missing. On the other hand, Catra has always known what she's missing. She's finally pulling her life together, has a family and band called The Horde, and is getting sober.When the two meet again, it's not an idyllic fairy tale--it's a mess, and overwhelming, and incredible, but so, so confusing. And it's right. It's always been right.
Relationships: Adora & Bow & Glimmer (She-Ra), Adora & Catra & Kyle & Lonnie & Rogelio (She-Ra), Adora & Catra (She-Ra), Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Catra & Double Trouble (She-Ra), Catra & Kyle & Lonnie & Rogelio, Catra & Kyle & Lonnie & Rogelio & Hordak (She-Ra), Catra & Kyle (She-Ra), Entrapta & Scorpia & Wrong Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 282
Kudos: 803





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all,
> 
> I have no fucking clue what I’m doing but I need more gay in my life so here I am. New at this shit, so kind and constructive comments pls :) I'm making a lot of shit up so go with the flow for me. I've been to Chicago like once but it's a great metal scene so like guess I'm doing what I want. 
> 
> Mentioned child abuse is going to be pretty graphic!! We all know Catra was physically abused in the Horde but being a kid's show, it was never explored. This is not a kid's fic, so I'm going to explore this to see in more detail how it impacts Catra's character.

5am--her alarm sounds but it’s quickly off and she’s out of bed, making sure it doesn’t ring too long and wake her roommates ( _ With sleep-blacked eyes and a tiny body full of fury, the much shorter girl grit her teeth. “As the self-titled queen of this apartment, I  _ refuse _ to be woken before 6am or so help me god I’ll light your hair poof on fire.” _ ). She goes to the bathroom, brushes her teeth, puts her hair up into a ponytail, and washes the sleep from her eyes.

5:15--she’s done getting ready. She moves to the kitchen, filling Swiftwind’s bowl with kibble, counting the time ticking under her breath as she mixes and drinks her pre-workout before leaning forward on her leg. 

5:30--Swiftwind is done eating. She finishes her stretching before shoving on her running shoes, leashing the dog, and after he’s relieved himself and she’s bagged it up, they take off.

They take the usual path right by the pond around the park. The early morning sun barely trickles over the horizon, casting thinly over the water and tickling the ducks that glide across the surface. The morning air feels fresh on her skin where the light begins to kiss it, sweat dripping onto the pavement. Swiftwind pants happily at her side, glad that they’re trying to better their time as they kick along, aiming to shave between 30 seconds and a minute off the total run.

She rounds the corner where old Razz always stands with her shopping cart that’s covered by a galaxy-print curtain. The woman sweeps the concrete around it with her broom, tidying the area for who knows why. 

Razz smiles as the duo near and gives her usual greeting. “Good Morning, Mara, dearie! Hello Swiftwind!” 

Swifty barks and she passes the leash to the other hand, returning the greeting with a quirk of the lips and a one-handed wave. She’s tried giving Razz money before only for her to shove it back into her hands, a  _ “I have what I need, Mara”  _ ending any attempt to give her anything. Passing the leash back, she glances at the time--5:46, a minute slow. They push forward with more effort to make up the time. She wants to be back at the apartment at 6am on the dot, so they weave through the few walkers and keep a steady, fast pace. 

When they race up the steps, she’s careful to lift her feet high enough so that she doesn’t trip. Her hand touches the door and she flicks her wrist outward so that the watch faces her--5:59 and 55, 56, 57...seconds. She smiles.  _ Better than perfect _ . 

Quickly, she sheds her shoes and unclips the leash, hopping into the shower to wash off the sweat. She’s out when her phone buzzes at 6:15 and properly prepares for the day by 6:30 when her roommates’ alarms go off. Seconds prior,  _ Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go _ starts before the blare of some death metal music swallows any other noise in the apartment whole. By the time she’s at the door belonging to the guttural screeching and thrashing, the one across from it is opened, a dark-skinned boy in rainbow boxers pulling a tank top over his binder greeting her.

“Morning, Adora.”

“Morning, Bow.”

They lift their fists to the other door and bang on it together. “Good morning, Glimmer!” There are protests from within the room, but they move on. She’s awake now so there’s no turning back. 

Adora sits at the counter, eating a banana and mixing a protein shake while her roommates catch up. Ten til seven, she double checks her backpack to make sure she has her things even though she did that twice before going to bed last night. When she’s satisfied, she zips it back up and straps Swifty into his service vest, walking with her friends as they trek to work.

It’s routine, and Adora likes it. Likes when things go off without a hitch, at least before she gets to work--then it’s a flurry of business. 

Even still, writing for Brightmoon Times is like playing basketball with Michael Jordan for her; it doesn’t get better than this. This is her dream and people  _ yearn _ for just assistant’s work here, but she’s three years out of college and already a writer. Well, a writer for Glimmer’s pop culture pages for the online site, but it’s a start. Not to say that Glimmer isn’t great! Glimmer’s a good editor and pushes her out of her comfort zone, which challenges her in the best way. It’s just not quite what she wants. Adora became a writer because she wanted to help people. Sure, maybe a pen is different from a scalpel or a police badge, but you can do so many things with it: tell stories, capture hearts, reveal truths, push for justice, criticize hypocrisy and cruelty--the pen has no limit. 

But, Adora guesses it can be categorized, so instead of covering protests and corrupt trade deals, she writes about concerts and bands while she pines for Angella’s--head editor (also Glimmer’s mom and boss, which, man that can be awkward)--attention. She dictates the big news stories and Adora’s hoping she gives her a chance and not because she’s Glimmer’s friend and roommate who sometimes comes to Christmas with them, but because Adora is like  _ actually _ a really friggen good writer. You don’t get top marks and valedictorian at Northwestern by being mediocre. Nope. Adora strove for perfection, even if right now meant coming down to the detail about Taylor Swift ( _ she sees Bow in a cropped  _ ME!  _ tour shirt last summer while they wait for the star to take the stage. The music begins to amp up and he crosses his heart, eyes sparking as he mumbles “praise our Lady and Savior” with a tone that didn’t have any right to be so serious _ ).

The three near the elevators and Bow stops short--Glimmer and Adora were the writers; he was here for temp work as a cameraman on another floor. The “independent contractor” work isn’t so hot at the moment so he’s been jumping all over town. Last night he’d said he was glad he could work with studio cameras and professionals instead of handhelds and new podcasters or worse--errand boy jobs. He literally shuddered at the thought. “Take-out tonight? I was thinking that new ramen bar on the corner and a movie?”

Glimmer, eyes previously dead to the world, brightens considerably. “Yes! But only if we watch  _ Mama Mia _ . Adora, you can’t write about music without having seen Meryl Streep do Winner Takes It All.”

“Seriously Adora. It’s kind of a gay sin.”

Adora rolls her eyes but her smile betrays her. “Fineee.”

Her roommates grin at each other before high fiving. “Sweet! I’ll see you later then.”

“Bye, Bow!”

They push into the elevator with several others, choosing amicable silence since it’s so early in the day. They don’t say anything until Adora has plopped down at her desk, pulling out her laptop as Swiftwind lays in his bed by her chair. 

“Where are you at on the Hozier piece?”

“The  _ Wasteland, Baby!  _ one? I’m working through a draft. Should have the final one to you by the end of the day.”

Glimmer sips coffee out of her  _ Boss Bitch  _ mug, pink sparkles sticking to her hand. She seems a little less gray when she looks at Adora again. “Great. And the  _ Watermelon Sugar _ filler?” 

“Already in your inbox.”

“Fuck yeah.” She starts to walk toward her office but pauses, an “oh!” popping out as she slows, continuing backwards so she can still look at Adora, “and try to finish that article early this afternoon. I have a great pitch and you’d be perfect for it. Angella and I want to meet with you at 3 in her office.”

Adora’s eyes widen as her tongue stumbles in her mouth. “Wha--huh, what, no! Glimmer, wait!” But the pink haired girl has already been snagged by an intern and pulled away. She puts her head in her hands and groans, Swifty whining at her feet when she does so. Adora pops the smooth stone out of the pocket of her blazer and runs her fingertips over it in her hand while the other pets her dog. 

Glimmer was editor but that didn’t mean she couldn’t pursue her own ideas. Why have Adora specifically do it? And why is Angella involved? Angella usually gives Glimmer leeway since she’s a bit out-of-touch with pop culture so there has to be a reason for her to get pulled in. This probably isn’t a regular piece, right? 

She pulls out a pen and rolls up her sleeves for the day, writing  _ 3pm, G & A  _ on her arm in red ink. Adora wrote for music, so maybe there’s a big event coming up that she doesn’t remember being on her radar. She opens her desk drawer and pulls out her overflowing binder, pages still neat despite nearing explosion, and flips to find events. Single and album release dates, upcoming concerts, rumored drop dates, scheduled interviews...but nothing she doesn’t already recognize and deem normal. Nothing that would tie into Angella’s jurisdiction. Ugh, is Kanye going to campaign for president? Please, god, she’d rather throw up on her laptop than have to write that up. 

Adora chews at her lip, bouncing her leg and thwacking the tiny boxing bag on her desk with her pen. She groans, then shakes her head. Whatever. She’ll find out later. Sooner would be great, but whatever. She’s got a piece to finish and she doesn’t want to awkwardly explain to Glimmer how she spent the entire day trying to figure out what the meeting was about instead of reaching her deadline. 

It’ll be fine. Just focus.

Adora snorts but opens her laptop anyway.

………………..

Adora shows up to the meeting thirty minutes early.

In her defense, she’s really bad at keeping track of time and while 10-15 minutes is seen as appropriately early, what if she spilled her green tea on her laptop and the laptop died and went  _ bzzt! _ and--hrmm--was still plugged into the wall (??) so it traveled through the charging cord which made sparks and lit Swifty’s bed on fire, like, what would she do with that? Well, she knows the answer--react. Whether it ended up panicked or not depended literally on everything in the context of the situation; a single grain of rice could tip the scale after all, so one detail was enough to make a bed/fire a narrowly avoided or straight up disaster. 

Adora giggles to herself, the movement of her chest shifting her tensed shoulders up and down unnaturally.  _ There’s nothing straight about me. _

Angella’s secretary raises an eyebrow at her from her desk, and Adora gives her a small, sheepish smile before checking her watch. 

2:36. She huffs out some air, deflating a bit. 

She pulls out her phone and busies herself with  _ Pokemon Go _ , red flushing to her ears when the blaring theme song sounds from her supposed-to-be  _ silent _ phone. This side of the building is close enough to a  _ Pokestop _ that she can check in. Her avatar rushes from the spot she was when she last checked her phone to where she is currently and enjoys watching the Rapidash buddy trot along after it.  _ So cool _ . If she could wish a single Pokemon to be real, she’d pick that one, hands down. 

More time passes while she manages her inventory and her heart skips a beat when she realizes she wasn’t paying attention. Eyes rush to the watch. 2:44. Phew. She was always so bad with time. When she was younger it wasn’t a big deal; she had someone to help her keep track. But when she got older,  _ especially _ when she got to college, she stumbled on her own. One morning her freshman year, she woke and got caught up talking to her assigned roommate, Glimmer, and drained her time to get ready for class. She ended up giving a professional presentation in her unicorn slippers and vowed never again. 

Adora makes a  _ boop _ sound with her mouth, putting extra emphasis on the -p, glancing at the secretary to see if she heard. She bounces her leg and Swifty licks her pantleg. The big, white dog sits obediently, eyes glancing casually around before laying his head in her lap. She smiles and scratches him behind his ears. He loves that, just like Ca--

Her heart twangs. Yep, no, not going there.

When Glimmer rounds the corner, Adora releases an exasperated sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re here. I was getting so  _ bored _ .”

Glimmer gives her a look that feigns seriousness. “Then stop showing up so early. Honestly, I should’ve told you to be here at 4. Then you’d have shown up on the dot. C’mon.” She waves her up and without breaking stride crosses the room to Angella’s office door and knocks. She doesn’t wait for a response before opening the door, ushering Adora and Swiftwind inside. 

Angella politely smiles as she wraps up a phone call from her desk. Glimmer heads for the small sitting area by the window wall, picking a plush grey chair and kicking her feet up on the glass coffee table. Angella tsks from across the room so she groans and puts them on the floor. 

Adora sits on the couch facing the windows. They’re high enough in the building that they can admire the city and the sky. It’s a clear spring day so the sky pops blue and clouds white, creating a happy atmosphere for everyone bustling below. Traffic, pedestrians, a peek at the park, surrounded by lush green elms. The silver of corporations interrupts the natural flow, but not really in an overbearing way. They mix with the brick and mortar of the smaller, classic shops, capturing a pleasant modern view. Honestly, this should’ve been the default background to some device, not real in front of her eyes. Perks of being the boss at one of the most important news sources in the country, she supposes. 

When Angella sits on the chair across Glimmer instead of on the couch, Adora relaxes a little for the extra space. “Hello Adora, Swiftwind. I haven’t seen you two for family dinner in awhile. How have you been?”

Adora blushes. “Ah, sorry. Lots of evening events the last few months. It’s been pretty busy but we’re doing good! We’ll be sure to come soon! 

The look on her face is soft and kind when she says “I’d like that,” even though Glimmer rolls her eyes. 

“So,” the pink-haired girl cuts in. “Mom definitely doesn’t know them,” but she pauses when Angella sighs. “Glimmer, I have google. I’ve looked them up since our last conversation.” The girl shrugs but moves on, eyes not flickering from Adora’s. “Have you heard of The Horde?”

When Adora comes up with nothing, she can’t help but feel bad for not knowing about whatever it is. “No.”

Glimmer carries on casually. “I’m not surprised. We usually aim music news toward the majority of our consumers. Y’know, top 40 stuff, not obscure in coffee shops.”

Adora nods. “Right.”

“But genres have been bending for decades now. People are less likely to say “I like pop music” than to list their favorite groups. Distinctions are getting blurry and consumers are getting more interested in variety. Panic!’s new stuff, for example--poppy, heavy bass, but still kinda rock-esque. Urie brings two different fan bases together. I’m sure you can think of others you’ve covered recently.”

“Yeah, kind of sounds like Pvris and Juice Wrld.” 

Glimmer beams, glancing at her mom and back to Adora. “ _ Exactly. _ Which is why we need our branches to reach  _ further _ . We’re only grazing bands and artists with talent that are  _ so _ close to being huge, and we’ve got to be ahead of the curve.” She breaks to take a sip of the water she brought in with her. “Y’know how I hired those siblings a few months ago?”

The Star siblings. Yeah, Adora knew them. They were a lot of fun and talented, bringing new perspectives and distinct voices to the page. Jewelstar could be a little grumpy but he always had nice things to say to her. He spent most of his time with Glimmer anyway. Tallstar and her have started working out together on the weekends and Starla hoards snacks at her desk. She’s always giving her homemade treats that fit her diet. She brought her a protein mix last week that was  _ incredible _ . “Yeah, they’re great. What about them?”

“Well, longer branches means we need more people to help reach out. I mean, unless you want to drown in assignments--don’t say anything. You’d wear yourself out and then everything you’d turn in would be crap.” Adora concedes. Tired Adora was  _ not _ a good writer. “So more hands on deck means we can cover more.” Glimmer’s eyes shine in that way they do before jumping out of hiding and scaring Bow. “ _ And _ do more.”

Adora quirks her eyebrow in confusion. “Which means..?”

Angella speaks for the first time in several minutes. “It has the potential to mean a lot of things but it needs to prove itself first. Adora, you’re interested in investigative journalism, no?”

Her body absolutely  _ buzzes _ . “Y-yes! Yes, I am, uh, ma’am.” 

“Adora, please don’t call me ma’am. We know each other too well for that.”

“Sorry ma--uh I mean Angella.”

Angella chuckles but continues. “Investigative journalism is hard-hitting writing and you’ve proven yourself to be very promising. Glimmer and I have been talking and we think we can kill two birds with one stone. You’ve shown your aptitude but I want to see your competence in action.”

“And I,” Glimmer adds, “want to see us doing more in the music scene. Not just attending regional concerts and swinging little league interviews--I’m talking  _ big girl _ stuff, Adora. Traveling to different venues across the nation, discovering underground hotspots, attending Coachella. But we need funding and to get funding, we need to show the board we’re going to get a turnaround of profit.”

She carefully takes the puzzle pieces the two are laying out, yet not quite getting the picture. “And my part in that is?”

………………..

“So let me get this straight,” her brow is wrinkled in concentration but she still catches herself and giggles. Adora’s gaze is fixed on the steaming cup in front of her but she doesn’t need to be looking at Glimmer to see her roll her eyes. “I need to  _ prove _ -prove myself to be moved to Angella’s department.” In her peripherals at the cafe, she sees Glimmer nod. “And in order for the music pages to become more serious and diverse, you have to prove that it’s worth the extra funding.”

“Yep.”

“So you and Angella think I can do both by interviewing this band?”

Her skepticism is obvious, so Glimmer leans forward on her hands. “Well, that’s the simplified version but you’re missing details.”

Adora nods, listening carefully to each word for best comprehension. “Which are, again?”

“The Horde isn’t just some one-hit wonder band. They’ve been topping metal charts since their first album. But a few of their singles from their 3rd album have made the top 10,” she pauses for dramatic effect, “in the  _ top 40 _ ! That’s, like, practically unheard of! Not even Bring Me The Horizon has gotten those numbers.”

Adora’s brow crinkles as she tries to place the band and the other girl notices. “Y’know, that alt metal/pop rock group with the song that goes,” she clears her throat and Adora tries not to cringe in anticipation “ _ you need a taste of your own medicine! Cause I’m sick to death of swallowin _ .” 

Glimmer takes a breath like she’s going to continue but Adora jumps in before she can, sparing her ears from more pitchy squeaking. “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about.” Which wasn’t a lie--they aren’t who she typically writes about but she  _ does _ recognize them. She knows they’ve been among the most successful groups at genre bending, particularly from the harder scene, who rarely break onto a pop station.

The other girl clears her throat, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs. The sunlight glints off of her sparkly eye-shadow, giving her the “majestic fantasy” aesthetic she’s so keen on wrapping herself up with. “Well, anyway, you know that’s a big deal. But they’re not peaking yet. They’ve been regularly churning out music the last few years and have even booked their first headlining tour this summer. You know Sea Hawk’s band?”

Adora rolls her eyes. Oh yeah, she knew Dragon’s Daughter. Sea Hawk was her friend, and so were Mermista, Netossa, Spinerella and Perfuma--they were all great friends, really--but Sea Hawk was either bursting into impromptu shanty, illegally starting fires, or gloating about the band, so yep; she  _ definitely  _ knew them. “How could I  _ not _ .”

Glimmer snorts. “Yesterday The Horde picked them to join as their supporting act. Sea Hawk and Mermista wanted us all to get together and get shitfaced before they told us, but the info is pertinent now so whatever.”

Adora’s eyes widen.  _ Wow, that’s really cool. I’ll have to remember to congratulate them. _ “Uh, wow.”

“Right? They’re kicking it off soon with this huge thing at the Thaymor.”

“Huge? That’s not a very big venue.” 

It really wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere close to being a stadium. It was actually an old mansion some local music shops retrofitted. She remembers construction taking  _ forever _ , but it was so worth it in the end. The place had a huge ballroom that was super popular in the 20’s. The detailed marbling, chandeliers, and adornments really gave off a Gatsby vibe, but it was actually the front of a speakeasy. Now it was a perfect modern/retro blend. They kept a lot of the old place intact but added things like, y’know,  _ running water _ , bathrooms, a stage, backstage area--the necessities--and knocked down several walls to fit stuff like crowds as they waited for entrance. 

The unused parts of the building were torn down, and two of the floors were opened to overlook and wrap around the old ballroom. This created an open standing area about the width of a hallway with drinking tables lining the railing. Just enough room for people to mingle and watch the shows and for people to walk past without much shoving. The main floor was mostly standing only, but the floor sloped slightly down from the back toward the stage, allowing for better viewing, a sound crew area in the upper-middle where they could see the performers well over heads, and a sitting area to wrap behind the crew, allowing others to sit and watch closer to the bar, merch tables, and bathrooms. That’s what she could remember about it, at least. It’d been several months since her last visit and they’d done some more remodelling. She couldn’t pretend it wasn’t her favorite place in town--it had so much more presence and atmosphere than any of the stadiums in Chicago did. With the right bands playing, it didn’t matter if she was shoulder to shoulder with sweaty, human-equivalents of garbage bins--it was about the experience.

Glimmer nods. “Yes, but they were looking for something a little more cozy. Something about really drawing the crowd closer. Plus, the recording capabilities of the place are  _ fantastic _ .”

“They’re recording?”

“Yes! It’s kind of genius, really. A kick-off concert to go ham at, get good tapes to tease online, garner up interest even when they’re traveling. It’s about a month between this concert and technically the first one of the tour, so it’s opportune time to build anticipation.”

Adora flicks up an eyebrow. “A  _ month _ ? Is it really kicking things off with that much time in-between? What’s the reason?”

Her companion shrugs. “I looked into that a bit and it just seems like it’s so they can give their all and rest up before being on the road for several months.”

_ Weird _ , but for the most part she understands. She did soccer throughout high school and college; she knew the idiocy of going too hard in the first ten minutes. Adora did that her freshman year of high school at her first varsity game. She got too excited and competitive that she was practically dust by the end of the first half.  _ A squeaky giggle fogs her brain and she can’t help the bittersweet smile it brings.“Does the jock have a brain? It’s called  _ pacing _ , dummy.” _

Glimmer brings down her mug a little too hard onto the table and the barista glares. She makes a face back when they look away. “Anyway, so I may or may not be a huge fan with a crush on the vocalist--” she stops at Adora’s amused grin. “Look, she’s a magicat and she’s fucking  _ hot _ . Just ask Bow. He’ll tell you  _ all about it _ after we get home.”

Adora laughs. “So you’re  _ both _ crushing on her.”

She flushes red and puffs out her cheeks as she pouts. “Ugh! She’s gay so maybe not so much Bow and I mean, the whole band is LGBTQIA+, but whatever. Moving on. This band has been at the forefront of my mind the entire time I’d been working on my pitch. If we can get an in with them before the concert, where they’re  _ so _ going to break big, we’re already lapping everyone while they’re slipping on bananas.”

“Is this race taking place on rainbow road? Please tell me it is.”

“Adora, forget the metaphor! I’ve already gotten us a head start. That assistant’s gig Bow had with the news network in February? Yeah, well it was an interview with the  _ vocalist _ .”

Adora’s getting tired of furrowing her brows during this conversation. “Wasn’t that the gig where Bow came home,  _ slammed _ the door, and made us jump so high when he said, and I quote, “that was  _ fucking _ terrible,” that you dropped the bowl you were putting away?”

Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Don’t forget,  _ She-Ra _ , you snapped the plate you were washing in  _ two. _ And yes, that one. I know he didn’t want to talk about it then but when I told him about my idea, he told me about how nice she was and how he gave him her manager’s card and promised to hook him up with tickets or something next time they performed in town. And  _ guess fucking what _ !” A statement, not a question. “We’ve got three goddamn tickets  _ and _ backstage passes to the show and we’re going, you’re gonna write a piece about the concert, kiss ass when we meet the band, and convince them to let us tag along on their tour so you can write our first long-term music story and I can work with Bow on our documentary.”

Adora sighs.  _ Two birds with one stone is really complicated _ . “Documentary?”

“Yep! Jewelstar is going to sub in as temporary editor. Well, hopefully. Bow and I want to shoot a documentary of the band. Seriously, they’re  _ so _ interesting. Did you know that they have charities set up for foster kids just getting out of the system and suicide prevention? Shit, no, you’ve just heard of them. Still. They aren’t even like,  _ Beyonce  _ yet, and they all give thirty percent of their proceeds away to charities  _ they created _ . I’ve seen all of their interviews, and all but one grew up together in the foster system under some evil old hag. Some  _ huge _ drama went down before they got out but when they did, they got full-rides to UCLA for music degrees, moved out here, and started their band under their  _ own _ record label. Their producer is super loaded I guess. He helped them get out of the system and to college and shit. Isn’t that amazing?”

Glimmer’s eyes shine with the burn of a lit fuse and it’s almost scary how passionate she is. It takes Adora aback, but she smiles at her friend’s devotion. “They do sound pretty awesome.” Her own fire sparks up in her chest and she feels confidence extend to fingertips, a smirk playing on her lips while she thinks about the potential of this opportunity. “Too bad for  _ Buzzfeed  _ the Best Friends Squad has this in the bag."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Boring? Kinda boring. Setting up stories can be such a draggg sorryy. Pls stay interested for my self-esteem thanks bye.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Best Friends Squad introduce Adora to The Horde!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't write music sadly so I'm stealing (cough, borrowing) from other talented artists to use for this work. FYI I'm going to be editing the song lyrics to better fit the narrative/characters, so be prepared for that. Sometimes the reason is because I think the original lyric sucks and as a fanfic writer, I get to do whatever I want in my au so hehe. Note: any song used for the band in this au should be considered a Horde original, even if the version I claim as theirs is technically a cover in reality. Always assume it's their original work unless stated otherwise.
> 
> The song mentioned is CrazyEightyEight's cover of Colors. Tbh it's way better than the original and literally kills me, but alas.
> 
> Highly recommend giving it a listen!

She should’ve known better than to have a ball of noodles wrapped around chopsticks shoved into her mouth when Glimmer and Bow pulled up Youtube. Let’s crash course The Horde before the movie they said. Great idea.  _ Spectacular _ . 

Honestly, at first it was okay. See a bit and let it turn over in her head before she really digs into the group in preparation for the concert. She always listened to a band’s repertoire before seeing them live if not make herself really familiar with it. Adora liked looking into the people behind the music, too, so creeping across the internet was part of the process--Mother Teresa or Chris Brown? She wanted to know who she was dealing with before seeing them in the flesh.

Should’ve about figured her big break would involve a heart attack, ghosts, and the angel from her nightmare.

  
  


_ Earlier: _

  
  


“I want to pick the first video!”

“Uh, no way, Bow. My pitch so I get first dibs.”

“Ugh, fine, that’s fair. But pick like a lyric video instead of a music video so Adora can hear their talent before she sees  _ her _ and gets all hot and bothered.”

“Good idea. Best to delay-start the useless Lesbian.”

“Hwey!” Her indignance with a mouth full of food is hardly serious, but she has to stick up for herself. Like, really-- _ it’s not like I’m some pervy lost puppy who sadly walks about until a pretty girl crosses my path and bam! I’m rolling over showing my tummy.  _ She cringes at the poor metaphor (yikes, she needs to read a book or something; she’s usually not  _ that _ bad). 

Honestly though, Adora isn’t big into that stuff. She tried dating in college, has flings and all here and there, but she can’t help comparing what she had--and lost--in her teens to all this. Maybe she was young and dumb and didn’t really  _ know  _ know the accuracy of her feelings, but even the bittersweetness that’s dulled with time feels stronger than anything she’s felt for another girl. God forbid  _ one time _ she’s walking behind a pretty magicat in a dress that gets swept upwards with the wind on the worst day in fall to go commando and she stops breathing because  _ Jesus, she was not expecting that _ and her roommates never let her live it down. 

Bow and Glimmer give each other a look, doing that ridiculous telepathic communication or nonverbal speaking with their nonexistent shifting of faces. They don’t even give her a chance to properly swallow before they’ve moved on, speaking their mixed language. 

“So what song should we play her?” And god, even as Bow asks he and Glimmer are grinning so wide their gums show, so Bow starts typing in letters and Glimmer turns to Adora.

“Okay, so they range from heavier to lighter, from metalcore to more electronic. This one is pretty middle of the road in that regard but not in quality. If you don’t like it, I will literally eat my ramen  _ and _ the cardboard container.” 

Bow picks a video on his laptop and pauses it before bringing the screen back into view, sitting between Adora and Glimmer on the couch. “Honestly, this might be our favorite song so if you don’t like it, I’m going to cry.”

Glimmer nods. “And I’m going to fire you because that’ll mean you have no taste.”

Adora laughs and playfully brings her arm behind Bow to push Glimmer’s shoulder. “Yeah, sure, okay. Just play it for me and bring the screen closer. I want to read the lyrics.”

Bow hits play, and Adora is surprised at the soft intro, the gentle crescendo into the first lyrics, but what surprises her most is the voice. 

_ Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so _

_ You said your mother only smiled on her tv show _

_ You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope _

_ I hope you make it to the day you're twenty-eight years old _

_ Velvet _ . That’s her first thought. The voice is soft and smooth, but it’s unique in its timbre, hinting that there’s so many other layers to be discovered, kind of like an onion if it were sweet, but rich--some type of contrast of elements that somehow balance in synchronicity. And with each line of the pre-chorus, Adora feels herself pulled into a new meaning of  _ luxury _ .

_ You're dripping like a saturated sunrise _

_ You're spilling like an overflowing sink _

_ You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece _

_ And now you’re tearing through the pages and the ink _

When the band comes in and the voice reveals a deeper layer, her body sparks and catches fire.

_ Everything is blue _

_ My pills, her eyes, her screams _

_ And now I’m covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams _

_ And it's blue _

_ And it's blue _

_ Everything is grey _

_ Her hair, my smoke, our dreams _

_ And now she’s so devoid of color _

_ She don't know what it means _

_ And she's blue _

_ And she's blue _

The rasps of emotion claw at her skin, sinking into her and the story--without picture, without scene, only color--engulfs her until this is all she is,  _ blue _ echoing in her ears. 

_ You were a vision in the morning when the light came through _

_ I know I've only felt religion when I've lied with you _

_ You said you'll never be forgiven till your boys are too _

_ And I'm still waking every morning but it's not with you _

In this moment, Adora becomes part of the narrative--just inserts herself like she belongs there because it feels  _ right _ . Like this is a home made for her. 

_ You're dripping like a saturated sunrise _

_ You're spilling like an overflowing sink _

_ Oh, you're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece _

_ And now you’re tearing through the pages and the ink _

_ Everything is blue _

_ My pills, her eyes, her screams _

_ And now I'm covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams _

_ And it's blue _

_ And it's blue _

_ Everything is grey _

_ Her hair, my smoke, our dreams _

_ And now I’m so devoid of color _

_ I don't know what it means _

_ And she's blue _

_ And she's blue _

_ You were blue and you liked me because I was red _

_ You touched me, and suddenly I was a lilac sky _

_ But the world decided purple just wasn't for us _

Us.  _ Us. _ The heartache now belongs to her in this home she’s in.

_ Everything is blue _

_ My pills, her eyes, her screams _

_ And now I'm covered in the colors pulled apart at the seams _

_ And it's blue _

_ And it's blue _

_ Everything is grey _

_ Her hair, my smoke, our dreams _

_ And now we’re so devoid of color _

_ We don't know what it means _

_ And she's blue _

_ And she's blue _

Her heart swells with the music, so full that each beat of the drums feels like it comes from her, like the muscle is pounding to keep more than herself alive and moving. All three of her heart’s walls open like a gate as if that were their purpose--not to pump blood nor just to house life, but access something at her core,  _ bring  _ something to her core. 

_ Everything is blue _

_ Everything is blue _

_ Everything is blue _

_ Everything is blue _

_ Everything is blue _

_ Everything is blue _

The guitar fades and the video stops. She feels her roommates tear their own eyes off the screen while hers seem stuck, feels them shift to gauge her reaction, but she’s stunned. Any thought, anxious tickling at the corners of her mind, or memory empties from her until she’s left with  _ feeling _ . A tear slips down her cheek as the first thing that’s not an emotion registers in her mind, perhaps not in exact words, but with meaning-- _ I missed this _ . What exactly isn’t clear and she’s too lost in herself to figure it out. 

When Adora manages to lift her eyes to peer at her roommates, their faces are soft, eyes warm and lips tipped upward slightly in quiet understanding. They don’t push her to say anything and give her the moment she needs to come back to herself. 

When she does, her voice is a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve felt music like that before.” She pauses, taking a long breath, and imagines a wild mane of hair, claws idly strumming an old acoustic, a mischievous, crooked grin displaying canines, and eyes of blue and gold. “At least, not in a very long time.”

Bow nods his head slightly. “They’re pretty good at that. The vocalist writes almost all of the lyrics. She’s been through a lot; has overcome a lot with her bandmates. In her interviews, she speaks very candidly. Recently she’s been very emotionally honest, too. It always comes through with their music.”

Glimmer reaches over his lap to grab her hand. “I was kind of unfair to you earlier.”

Adora finds it hard to furrow her brows in this state but still sends her a questioning look.

“I didn’t really give you a choice in this pitch. I just immediately dragged you into it, even threw you in front of my  _ mom _ while you were trying to process this whole thing. I’m sorry. I was really excited that my mom was actually taking me seriously, especially for a project like this. This group is incredible and I got over-zealous at the opportunity.” Glimmer gives her hand a squeeze. “But I hope you’ll say yes to doing this now that I’ve laid it all out.” 

Adora squeezes her hand in return and grabs Bow’s before bringing her voice back to a normal speaking level. “Like I could say no after that. Let’s do this.”

Bow squeals excitedly and wraps his arms around them. “Yes! Best Friends Squad hug!”

Adora settles into a feeling of peace as she laughs and embraces her friends, falling into an easy silence as the other two chatter, bringing up some more info on the band. She reaches for her ramen, which has gotten a little lukewarm, but still gathers up a ball of noodles to consume. 

“Okay, check this out. This is their line-up. Right here is DT and they do all of the electronics. They aren’t one of the foster kids, but they were there when the band officially formed. They’re so sassy that it literally fuels my soul and they’re the face for most of the PR stuff--they really thrive off of attention and I love every second of it. Then we have Rogelio, lizard hybrid on drums, Lonnie, who plays bass, Kyle, who plays rhythm guitar, and Catra, the magicat beauty who does vocals and lead guitar. Like wow, isn’t she a goddess?”

Something distantly related to dread washes over her as she hears the names that strike familiarity in her, and when he announces the last band member and she looks at the screen, Adora honestly thinks her heart is going to burst out of her chest screaming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly smaller chapter because I'm trying to transition out of the information dump stuff and more toward the fun stuff. I don't plan on posting chapters less than 1k, but we'll see where the natural breaks show up. I'm going to try to update at least once a week but I'm also a grad student and classes start up again soon, so TBD on how well that works. 
> 
> Pls give me feedback. A kudo, a comment, a good vibe. Thanks y'alllll


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora gets her first look at her childhood friends all grown up and maybe freaks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all,
> 
> Thanks so much to those who've commented and left kudos! I'll try and respond to you guys individually but know that I appreciate you so much :)

The noise that comes out of her throat as she chokes on noodle and chopstick sounds like some slapstick effect from an early 2000s sitcom, but damned if it isn’t occurring naturally as Adora panics. 

“Fuck, Adora! Bow, whack her on the back or something!”

Bow squeaks and brings his hand up--“breathe Adora, breathe!”  _ That’s kinda the problem! _ \--and smacks between the shoulder blades, which,  _ of course _ , only makes things harder for her.

Desperate for survival, Adora forcibly takes the one brain cell the three of them share and yanks the chopsticks from her mouth, saliva flying out as the noodles she swallowed are ripped from her esophagus. She tries not to vomit as she feels the strands graze the length of her throat during their departure. The mess goes flying and lands several feet away, and Swifty doesn’t hesitate to investigate. 

“No boy, no!” He clomps his mouth around it like it isn’t the most disgusting thing that’s come out of his owner and consumes the noodles. Bow whines as he rubs Adora’s back while she recovers. “Bad Swifty.”

She knows her roommates are staring at her with wild eyes but she’s too busy coughing to care. Truthfully, she’s too busy thinking to care that she nearly asphyxiated.  _ What the fuck is happening! _

Glimmer appears on her other side. “Adora, please tell us you’re okay. You’re breathing, right?” 

She wheezes but can’t respond, so Bow panics. “Aw man, I’m not CPR certified! Glimmer, you got certified to babysit Frosta, right?”

“That was like 12 years ago! I don’t remember that!”

“Mouth to mouth! Chest compressions! Stayin’ Alive, right??” His arms have moved from rubbing her back to squeezing her tightly against him, making her cough harder as she tries to force oxygen into her lungs--something she had barely been managing before but was now  _ impossible _ .

Glimmer comes to her rescue. “Bow, let go! How is she supposed to breathe like that?” She flings his arms off of Adora’s torso and sits her back so air is able to enter her body easier. 

Adora sucks in a long, strangled breath, but she  _ is _ breathing now. It takes several minutes for her to calm down but when she does, she flops her head onto the back of the couch and closes her eyes. “Fuck.”

Bow has scooted over on the couch and now she’s sandwiched between her friends. She knows she has to open her eyes, tell them that she’s okay, but also she  _ isn’t _ and doesn’t know what to say.  _ Hey I’m alive but guess fucking what? _ She elects to dig her palms into her eyes to still her tears and just groans without abandon.

“So,” Glimmer starts. “What the hell just happened?”

“Yeah, Adora. We know you’re not always the most coordinated but that was disastrous.” 

They wait a few minutes and when she doesn’t remove her hands from her eyes, they each take an arm, gently bringing them down for her. She opens her eyes and they burn with static as the light washes over them. Some liquid makes its way out and she furiously wipes it away before it can even hit her cheek. 

“Fuck,” she repeats.

“Yeah, hun, we heard you the first time. I’m starting to get the feeling that episode didn’t occur a la Adora-ism.”

Adora considers sulking but knows it’d only delay the inevitable. She doesn’t want to continue feeling this way. There’s too much going on in her head, way too much for her to organize and deal with on her own, and just wants to get it over with so it can get out.

“Yeah,” she agrees.

Bow’s voice is careful when he asks “care to tell us why?”

She sighs. “I’d rather not but there’s no use hiding it.”

When Adora doesn’t say anything further, Glimmer steps in. Baby steps it is. “It being?”

Adora looks around, sees the laptop still open on the coffee table and grabs it. The screen has shut off so she hits the power button, enters the password. It’s not her laptop but ArrowBoy!18 is Bow’s password for everything so it’s not a hard code to crack. 

Her breath stills in her lungs when she sees the image that caused her to choke in the first place. 

It’s a professional photo. The backdrop is dilapidated, peeling wallpaper surrounding two tall, old windows of graying wood and dusty glass that sandwich the group. It’s dark outside but the area within seems illuminated by a fire. Large shadows cast off the group where they’re posed around what looks to be the head of an old throne room. They center around a ripped, black velvet chair ornamented with silver and Adora forces her eyes to view the others before considering who’s on that chair. 

On either end of the group are Rogelio and Lonnie. Rogelio stands alone on the left-hand side, slightly turned toward the middle. The lizard-hybrid has grown a lot since Adora last saw him, so much so that she can tell he’s easily six foot something and his muscular arms are thicker than her thighs. The birth mark on the bridge of his nose has gotten darker and so have his scales. They are no longer a bright green, but a deeper shade that makes the white of the teeth poking out of his mouth stand out. His head spikes have elongated, stretching backward in a way that echoes a mohawk. He’s wearing a grey button-up shirt with the sleeves ripped off, top button undone, and black denim pants. The shirt has the same basic design that the others wear--the colors are blocked, gray being the major color while the top fourth of the shirt is blocked black. The black is interrupted in the middle of each shoulder by a red spike that points down to the edge of the block. On the center of his shirt is a red symbol--something akin to dragon wings with a diamond in between the two. 

Lonnie’s top is very similar, but it’s part of a form-fitting, romper uniform. The color scheme is the same, but it appears the garment was made sleeveless and with an almost turtleneck-high collar. She wears a black belt in the middle where her frame has widened. When they were teens, Lonnie had still been skinny, struggling to put on muscle despite how often she competed with Adora. In companion with her tattoos, she seems an unstoppable force. From what Adora can see, she has full sleeves that may or may not extend from under the uniform up her neck. Where else she may have them is unclear, but the image quality is HD and the details are very Polynesian, like her roots. The years have worked in her favor and her stature exudes the power she always worked for. Still, she isn’t as large as Rogelio, so it’s only with Kyle turned inward next to her that they take the same amount of space as him to give the group a more balanced look.

Kyle is still skinny but that’s not a surprise. What’s surprising is his more slim than scrawny look. He’s only average height but his form has matured, looking less gangly. Even his face looks mature, his features strong and almost pleasant with his now-clear skin. By his left brow, he has a dagger tattoo that extends down his cheekbone and he looks...cool? His dirty blonde hair is styled differently from when they were younger, too. Adora remembers a certain someone always goading him about fixing it differently. Several times, they’d plotted to cut it for him in his sleep, but the scissors were always confiscated before they got the chance. Now, the sides of his head are shaved but the top is still pretty long, flopping in its familiar, characteristic way. It allows for a sleek but still messy look and yeah, he  _ does _ look cool, even in his simple, tucked in matching t-shirt, cuffs rolled up, and black belt and jeans. He doesn’t look nearly as confident as the others but he looks comfortable, like he’s in a place he knows he belongs. Adora’s heart is heavy but her lips twitch with a smile for him. 

Her heart pounds and she means to look  _ on _ the chair, but she panics and puts her gaze above on an unfamiliar reptilian.  _ Must be DT _ . Their scales are matte while Rogelio’s shine and they’re a brighter hue, but they are decidedly  _ much _ different than him. While Rogelio is tall and strong, DT is lithe. Even in a still image, Adora doubts they have a clumsy bone in their body. They exude  _ control _ . Their own skin-tight one-piece shows off their thin shape, still appealing despite the lack of curves. The red emblem is smaller on them, restly quietly on their belt-buckle, but even without it, their calm assertion of self would make their inclusion obvious. The way they cross their legs on top of the chair, draped over the front of the throne, cocky grin and eyes peering straight into the camera, makes no room for argument; they are one of the group and no small member, at that. 

Adora’s heart beats in her ears and thumps against her ribcage. She counts each one, feels the way they shake and pulse in her eardrums, blocking any other sound from making its way in. Her mouth goes dry and she can’t swallow the lump that’s built in her throat. All her form does is vibrate in place, the frequency getting higher as anticipation builds. It knows that once she shifts her eyes a few millimeters, it’s game over; there will be no backing out. But God, she doesn’t have the will to shut the screen, say never mind and play the movie. Her temptation is a living form, one that her previous, quick glance revealed to have aged, and it feels like a knife has been stabbed into her chest because she hadn’t been there to see it happen, but man is she glad that it has--that means the girl’s alive and not just that, but  _ thriving _ in a way that makes what’s left of her innocence genuinely euphoric while the tainted side of her burns pleasantly in a place that’s lower, and very Adult’s Only because  _ wow _ and she hasn’t even really  _ looked _ yet.

Adora can’t take it anymore; all she is right now is anticipation and the restlessness it causes within her is too unbearable to keep, so the dam bursts free. 

And for a moment, it’s like she’s choking all over again.

Adora had always thought of the other girl as some sort of angel. Ironic, she knows--it reminds her of that scene in  _ Lilo & Stitch.  _ She knows her life is anything but a Disney movie but somewhere deep within it feels like the screenwriters called her up and took a piece of her life and inserted it in animation. 

When she was really young, kids had rotated in and out of the foster home pretty quickly. No one stayed for long, so there was no point getting attached, Ms. Weaver said. Adora had never really  _ liked _ Ms. Weaver, but her foster parent raised her from birth and was all she had until the day she found a box labelled  _ FREE _ on the porch of the home. She spent a lot of time quiet, obedient, and  _ alone _ , so several years later when she and her brother have a movie night and she first watched the scene where Lilo is praying for a friend-- _ send me an angel! The nicest angel you have! _ \--and it immediately transitions to Stitch laughing maniacally, eyes glowing in the dark, jumping out of a crater with smoke rising in the air, oh yeah, she cried when she was supposed to laugh. It scared the shit out of Adam, but she couldn’t help it; it was too real, and  _ so _ Catra. 

Catra, who sits on the arm of the throne, one leg splayed outward while the other is bent, foot on the other arm with her hand resting on her knee. She wears a skin-tight pair of red combat pants with rips horizontally across her thighs and torn-open knees. The pants stop shortly above her ankles and she’s shoeless, as usual, favoring letting the claws on her feet out. She has black foot-wrappings protecting the pads that match the fingerless gloves she wears and her claws are extended, revealing more black. The pants are high waisted but there’s still a stretch bare to the world between them and the top along with her mostly exposed arms. The familiar, thin coat of light-brown fur over tan skin shines healthily, thicker at the happy trail that’s just barely in-sight and on her jaw just below her ears. Stripes settle across her arms and Adora thinks they have become more red than orange these past years. 

She tries not to stare but can’t help it. Heat blooms across her cheeks the more she looks at the halter top. One sleeve is short while the other is long, but the shoulders are exposed and so is her cleavage, a diamond shape acting as a window. The top seems to be outlined in studded leather, which wraps around her on the bottom hem as well as the shoulder cut-outs, seemingly reinforcing the straps to the shirt. Adora tries not to faint as the shoulder straps come up to her neck where they attach to a matching, studded collar that has a tag of the band logo. Something about it makes Adora very warm and it takes time for her to move upward to appreciate the face of her old friend.

With and without shock, as she knew they were there but they always managed to pierce through her, Adora takes in Catra’s eyes--one blue, one golden, pupils half human and half feline slits. Adora watched a movie when she was younger where an old lady used a crystal ball--cloudy, sparkly, mysterious--to tell the hero’s future. The other kids were obsessed, using any similar object they could find (mostly lightbulbs) to read imaginary futures for each other. Adora never played because she always felt like Catra had what she needed right there; one look in her eyes and it felt like the heterochromia told her everything she needed to know about her future. 

Catra’s face is much the same but it’s gotten more defined. Cheekbones cast shadows, her jaw was sharp enough to stab a man, and she’s sure the girl enjoys the fact. The small tufts of fur on either side of her face bring Adora a delicate feeling, remembering their softness and how much the other girl would melt when she pet them or behind her dark brown, almost black cat ears. Even now she can imagine her purr and misses the feeling it gave her when Catra’s face slackened and fell asleep.

It’s hard to imagine the adult face before her soft, though. With deviously curved lips painted black and so much edge and sharpness, her features come together in what she embarrassingly but immediately defines as  _ sex appeal _ . Her once curly, beautiful mane now cut off close to the scalp with bangs slicked back, a single strand falling forward in gorgeous rebellion, cements this girl isn’t a  _ girl _ , but a  _ woman _ . And wow, taking her all in makes her feel like she’s woken from a coma to find herself in a dream. 

Her friends bless her with their patience, letting her just look at the screen for a while because she needs to. Adora doesn’t think she could ever get her fill of Catra but once she’s sated she closes her eyes. She wants to prevent temptation to look at the photo for hours but she sees the girl tattooed on her lids and it takes her a moment longer to open her mouth. 

“So you know how they grew up in foster care?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, there  _ was _ a fifth person to their group while they grew up, but it wasn’t DT.”

Adora can hear their confusion even in their silence. “Okay, and you know this how?”

  
She takes in a deep breath.  _ Now or never _ . “Because that person was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll probably reorganize chapter 2 thru whatever in the future but right now I'm just trying to get content out sooner in a semi-logical fashion. No sense making y'all wait while I take 20 years to mull stuff over when I have words just sitting on a page.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The missing details start to reveal themselves and they're ugly. 
> 
> WARNING: THIS IS WHERE IT STARTS TO GET DARK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how to best do trigger warnings, but please know that this is where the fic starts to get dark. Will all of the fic be like this? No, but this is a central part of it so there's no real skipping it. If violence and self-harm of any kind--even just referenced--trigger you, please take care of yourself and don't continue. Once I've gotten more content down I hope to go back and reformat this so that you can skip the details for a summary but still enjoy the story, but that time is not now. I don't want to reveal too much by tagging everything, but it's getting ugly, y'all. I'll be sure to let y'all know in future chapters when dark themes pop up but this one and at least the next chapter will have em.
> 
> If you need happy stuff to immediately consume after hard chapters, have a back up or hold out a little while. I'll leave a note at the beginning of the next chapter that's lighter.

For an overwhelming moment, Adora is caught between two human sonar machines, echoing loud  _ pings _ of shock in either ear as they lose their shit. Outside herself, she bets it’s a funny scene, but right now it’s a lot and the sense is overloading her already short-circuiting brain, making the thoughts and pictures in her head grating, pixilated, and spikey. She squashes her palms over her ears in an attempt to muffle the sounds, audibly wincing when the two continue their squawking for more than just a few seconds.

It takes them a minute to notice. Bow realizes first, not hesitating to clamp his hand over Glimmer’s mouth before pointing to the dear friend they’ve unintentionally made miserable with their outbursts. 

Swiftwind walks over and licks the hands on her ears then her face, resting his head in her lap when she brings both off to scratch him. 

Her friends look guilty and squeamish and she’s already saying “it’s okay” when they both blurt “I’m sorry” because she hates it when such good people look like they think they’re less than that. 

Adora takes a moment to focus on her hands running through Swifty’s soft hair, her feet grounded on the floor, the smell of miso and faint hum of the AC. “Really, it’s okay. Kind of dropped a bomb.” 

Glimmer rubs her arm and Bow sighs. “Still, it wasn’t cool. We shouldn’t have yelled like that.” 

They look so guilty and she chuckles a little, tries to use humor to calm them down. “Thanks for apologizing. You might want to go knock on the neighbor’s door and apologize to her, too.” 

They give her small smiles so she knows it works, if just a little. 

Glimmer clears her throat. “So, uh. What?”

Adora nods, exhaling. “Yeah. I’ve told you about growing up, remember?”

“We do.”

“And how I had this small family in the foster home I grew up in.”

“And Catra.”

She sighs. “And Catra.”

Glimmer groans softly. “I feel like an idiot. All the pieces were there and it never occurred to me that they were the same person.”

“To be fair, what are the chances?”  _ What  _ are  _ the chances? _ Life didn’t treat Adora like this. She had to fight for everything she had. Stars don’t align for her--she makes things happen herself. How is this even possible?

Bow brings up a finger. “So, let me get this straight,” Adora snorts once but she’s too tired to smile. He’s too busy adding things in his head to comment on it. “Your stories of growing up in an under-funded foster home with an old hag who was obsessed with you but treated the other kids like cash cows involve these four.”

Glimmer chips in. “The same four who grew up being mistreated or outright abused by their foster parent, who is apparently the same hag.”

Bow and her are going back and forth now. “The same four you were separated from when your brother found you.”

God, yeah,  _ that _ was a mess.

She and Catra were 15. 

Catra was taking extra classes to graduate early. The next year would be her last and she was going to do errands to save cash for a van for all of them to get out of there. Adora was in sports so she could hopefully get a full-ride to university so she still had a few years left. The others were going to use the time they spent waiting to get enough money to blow town. Hopefully college was in the cards for them. God knows even with cheap, unbranded instruments, they had the talent for music scholarships, but they were more desperate than she was to just  _ leave _ , so while she got to play star athlete, they sacrificed. It burned then and it was consuming now, knowing how epically it  _ didn’t _ work out. 

Before the school year had ended, Adam had showed up at Weaver’s door. Adora always knew Weaver was shady, but turned out the kids were more than just state checks; they were blackmail, too. Well, not everyone, but Adora definitely was. 

Adam was twelve when their parents had her. She remembers him telling her about how they were struggling to keep their business afloat, how they were taking odd jobs to afford a baby when they found out about the pregnancy. Then when their mom started showing, everything was great. Some “investor” came and put down money to keep their parent’s law practice going at the cost of giving him priority as a client. He was young, so it seemed simple and great for awhile. But when the pregnancy neared its end, their parents were up day and night, surrounded in paperwork, stifling tears during late-night phone calls for weeks. And after mom went into labor, that was the end of it, but no baby to return home with. They’d never really explained and when they died while he was in grad school, he had to get the answers on his own in the form of private investigators. 

And it only got more complicated from there--their “investor” was some affluent businessman known as Prime who was deep into money laundering, bribery, and racketeering. At first, their parents were just helping to cover it up and the money they made kept their family afloat. Then a few of Horde’s partners tried to pull the rug from under him, so he needed a stronger safety net. Turns out cutting off the cash flow unless expecting families gave up their babies was an excellent strategy--add in the fact that he could take them down with him, and suddenly plenty of couples went -1. With the kids in his pocket, all Prime had to do was dangle them over the parents’ heads and he got what he wanted.

That’s how Adora ended up separated from her family and in Weaver’s home several states away in Detroit, where Prime kept the kids--right under the nose of the legal system in one of the most vulnerable cities in the country. Police departments and agencies across the nation had been gathering evidence for years, fighting a cycle of bribery to set up a case, but when Adam got what he needed to find Adora and get her out of the home, a hole was left open. He blackmailed the blackmailer and even with Weaver putting up a nasty fight, she was gone the day after he first knocked on the door.

And because of the sensitivity of the situation, she had to leave almost all of her possessions behind and left without a word. With Adam’s cooperation, the FBI forewent witness protection for just protection, but that meant Adora couldn’t have any contact with those back in Detroit. She left without saying goodbye and by the time the case had closed, they had left the home and she had no way to reach out to them. They weren’t among the blackmail kids, so they didn’t have last names, and without last names, they were lost to her. So Adora stayed with Adam in Kansas City until she went to college and then got a job in Chicago, making a new family and thinking that her old one was gone forever. 

Adora feels the tone shift when she hears the caution of Glimmer’s voice. “Wait. No, wait, Bow.” She grabs his shoulders and stares into his eyes, her own wide, unblinking, brows drawn together tightly. “This Catra is  _ Adora’s _ Catra, so that means Adora is the one who--” she flicks her gaze back to Adora, gestures with her hand and shakes him a bit--“you know. Adora is  _ her _ .” 

She tries not to choke on her own dread when she hears him--Mr. Sunshine Happy Thoughts who actively censors himself--curse. “Oh fuck.” 

“Oh fuck? Oh fuck what? What is that supposed to mean?” She asks but she already has a feeling and knowing is only going to make it worse. 

Glimmer and Bow look at each other and while Adora can’t make out a lot of specifics, she can tell their telepathy involves them trying to figure out how to tell her something or some  _ things _ and she just wants them to hurry up so she doesn’t have to sit here and stew, knowing that it’s anything but good because if she doesn’t know what it is already, that means it’s from after Adora left, when she wasn’t there for Catra, and she knows this is going to hurt like a bitch. 

“Just tell me,” she blurts. “Tell me right now and don’t leave anything out. If you don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out on my own anyway so you might as well be forthcoming.” 

Glimmer doesn’t make eye contact with her for a while, but Adora knows she’s going to be the one to say it. Judging from the amount of time it’s taking her to choose her words, it’s going to be it, plural, and she buckles up.

“Bow, you wanna get--?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

Glimmer takes her hands in hers and waits for him to come back with a glass of water and some tissues before looking up. “Okay, so it’s probably not a surprise to hear that a lot has happened since you last saw her.”

Adora’s eyes are already burning.

“And there’s no easy way to tell you all of this, so I’m just going to start with saying I’m sorry and we’re here for you. We’ll tell you everything we know and we’ll go through the internet to find the bits we don’t, though there’s a high likelihood that if we don’t already know it, the details aren’t public.”

_ Why is breathing so hard? _

“Okay. Let’s go chronologically? There’s a lot of stuff that happened that you need to know for this all to make sense.” Swiftwind climbs the couch, his large body squishing everyone but no one is about to tell him to get down as he lays across them. “So you don’t know what happened after you left. That means you don’t know why they thought you left.”

“Adora, they thought you killed yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;(
> 
> It gets worse before it gets better--a cycle that will pop up the entire fic. 
> 
> Don't despair, though--there WILL be a happy ending and they WILL get fluff because they deserve it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Adora finds out what they think happened to her, she's left reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update? I'm pumping these out quicker than I thought I would. Can't promise it'll be like this beginning to end but let's roll with it for now.
> 
> Still heavy stuff.

_ I _ _ n, 2, 3, 4, out 2, 3, 4. _

Words, pictures try to drift into her head but Adora shoes them away. She’s not entirely successful--she rarely is--but she does her best to focus on her breathing, strictly keeping all thoughts on the instructions she’s giving herself. It’s a monumental effort trying to quiet the static of her mind. Even now, her head is fuzzy at the edges, but she keeps pushing.

_ Just one more minute _ .

She feels her legs sticking to her friends, her clammy hands on her jeans. Her heart beat is loud but it’s calmer. The sick, twisted feelings in her gut are hard to stand, but she forces herself to acknowledge them. Adora knows that this is a lot. She knows she feels overwhelmed, sad, frustrated, even a little scared. Mostly, she feels guilty but doesn’t let herself delve into the whys and emotions that branch off from it. That’s a rabbit hole she’s avoiding because she also feels determined. Despite how much this sucks and is going to keep sucking, at least for a bit, she wants to know. She wants to know because she wants to do something about it, so she breathes,  _ 2, 3, 4  _ and opens her eyes when she’s ready again. 

“I’m okay. I just needed a moment.”

Adora doesn’t quite like the sympathy on her friends’ faces--they look too close to pity, but it’s only out of empathy; they hurt for her and while she doesn’t like that she’s brought that upon them, she’s glad she has such great people here for her. 

“So, obviously I didn’t. Weaver knows Adam took me. We had plans after graduation. Why would they think that?”

Bow shrugs, eyes downcast. “Plans don’t always mean it can’t happen.”

“Bow’s right.” The way her pitch lifts off the last syllable suggests Glimmer has more to add, but she’s quiet. She’s quiet but Adora can hear her struggle to come up with the words, wants to grit her teeth in the way she does before she snaps and yells  _ shut up _ but forces herself to be patient. 

“And without a body,” she starts, speaking slow, “that means they had to be told that you, y’know.” Adora looks at her, squeezes her fists closed and feels the numbness that comes with white knuckles. “Do you think that maybe Weaver, I don’t know...told them that?”

“You mean lied about me?”

Her friend winces, but she can’t help the bite that comes with it. She chews on her lip, considering, but already knows it’s well within her character. “It wouldn’t surprise me. She hated not being in control. And I guess losing her favorite pet would open up a lot of questions, so...she killed me off to prevent having to try and answer them?” She laughs without humor. “God, she’d be such a cliche TV villain.”

Bow shifts in his spot to look at Glimmer. “I don’t think she did a very good job of it, either.”

The other girl freezes before gasping.

Adora doesn’t like being angry  _ and _ confused. “What does that mean?”

If Adora is the Confused Math Lady, Glimmer is Einstein and Bow is Pythagorus.

The work they’re doing in the moment is almost tangible. She feels like she could pluck numbers from between their stares but wants them to finish the equation so she gives them space. She’d go buy them a chalkboard if they asked. She’d buy out an Office Depot if they even hinted that it could be helpful. 

“That’s right,” Glimmer starts. “Adora,” she’s making eye contact with her now and the intensity of her gaze shows her they’ve cracked the code. “They didn’t believe her. At least Catra didn’t. She went looking for you.”

Adora feels her knuckles crack from the pressure she’s putting on them. “What the hell do you mean she went looking for me?”

Bow grabs her fists, slowly starts to pry the fingers apart though it takes some effort. “Literally that she went looking for you. The interviews of their first album were really interested in it. All of the songs are super heavy like emotion and theme-wise. Loss, death, hurt, loneliness, anger--the album is like a tribute to suffering. There were a lot of questions about what influenced it, and Catra wrote those lyrics on her own so she was the one who answered.”

“Christ, Bow, jump in if I miss or mess anything up. But yeah, she was vague but I’ve seen all of them and put stuff together. It seems like your disappearance really freaked all of them out. They were told suicide, but Catra didn’t believe it for a second. She talked about how she saw a man the day earlier she’d never seen before.”

Adora’s eyes widen. “Adam.” 

“Right. According to her, Weaver never hit her without something provoking it,” Adora winces but it doesn’t stop Glimmer, “but she said she just walked into the room where she was and the witch backhanded her. That must’ve tipped her off, even if she didn’t hear what they talked about. Adam was pulling away when Catra got outside and she got the plate number. And the next day you were gone.”

Glimmer looks ready to keep speeding along but Bow stops her and continues himself. His words are terrible but he speaks them as gently as possible. “She confronted her about it and it, uh, didn’t go well. She ended up in the hospital and they prescribed her some painkillers for the pain. None of her interviews explicitly say what happened but a year ago, someone posted a photo of her on reddit. He was boating on the coast of Florida and happened by the band. She was wearing a bikini or something.” He shakes his head and tries to think of the exact outfit but coming up dry. “What it was doesn’t matter. The person only got one picture of her before she started throwing stuff at him, but the one he did showed her torso. And there was a scar from about here,” the crop top he’s wearing gives easy access to his own abdominal region so he demonstrates. He brings his finger to his right side on his abdomen, “to about here,” and then moves it about an inch or so to the left.

The air is still for the seconds it takes Adora to realize what he’s telling her and when she does, she cries. “Weaver  _ stabbed _ her? If that bitch ever gets out of prison I swear to God I--”

“Adora, breathe, breathe. It’s okay.” Glimmer is trying to help but Adora doesn’t want that. When she was probably having dinner for the first time at a restaurant or driving the car on the highway back to KC, Catra  _ needed _ her and the knowledge leaves her weak. 

“I can’t fucking believe it,” but she can, and that makes the guilt grow. It must show on her face because Glimmer is now grabbing her shoulders and forcing eye contact. 

“Hey, slow down. I know this sucks. She didn’t deserve that, but please, you have to remember that leaving wasn’t your choice and neither was what happened to Catra. You don’t get to take the blame for something a monster did. That monster is rotting away where she belongs and you’re here where  _ you _ belong.”

Adora is miserable but she knows her friend isn’t wrong. She wasn’t the one who did that to Catra and if she’d been there in Weaver’s place, she wouldn’t have even picked up the knife. She knows it’s not her fault but wishes desperately that she could go back and change everything for Catra’s sake.

“Adora.” It’s Bow this time. “You can’t change the past. It’s already happened and it’s out of your control. You  _ can _ shape the future, though. Take the time you need to grieve over this stuff, but don’t let it consume you. That concert’s in two days. We’re going to be there. They’re going to be there, so that means Catra, too. You want to learn about what happened, right?”

She nods.

“Then we’re going to help you do that, just like we’re going to help you see her again. Okay?”

And God, how awful would it be to see her family, her long-lost  _ everything _ again, and be so overcome with grief that she can’t see anything other than the cinematic past she paints of them in her own head?

“Okay.”

“Good. The worst of it isn’t over yet. There’s still a lot to go, but we’ll take breaks when you need it. But look at this,” he pulls out his phone and she watches as he goes into his photos, selects an album titled  _ Meow Goddess _ , and starts scrolling through some of the more recent pictures.

Pictures of Catra  _ smiling _ . Smiling as she and the others serve food in a soup kitchen (her head is thrown back as she laughs, ladle frozen mid pour as the person she’s serving laughs with her), smiling as she sits with an acoustic surrounded by little kids (hybrids, humans, sitting close to her as she strums the guitar on the floor. One of the kids is practically on top of her, eyes wide as they have their hand over hers, and Catra’s gaze is nothing but gentle), smiling as the group stands with officials holding a large framed award-- _ Rolling Stone’s Band of the Year 2020  _ (she’s wearing a grey suit with the top button of her black shirt undone, no tie, claws retracted as she has the frame in her grip with the others at her sides). They don’t look forced at all. There’s no mask covering her pain; she’s enjoying these moments.

“See how happy she is? And these are  _ recent _ . She’s been through a lot but she’s doing better. She’s got a lot going for herself. Don’t forget; The Horde are about to break out across all genres of music. They’re doing good things and good things are happening to them. You can mourn, but that stuff is in the past for them. They’re doing well. Focus on that, yeah? When you see them that’s what they’re going to want to do.”

_ When you see them _ . Despite all the nasty feelings, those words bring her so much hope. She wants to bring that hope with her when she sees them again--not the pain she feels for things they’ve already worked through. They’ve moved forward, so once she catches up, she will, too.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Adora actually finds  _ herself _ smiling. “Thanks, guys.” 

Adora claps her hands together, tenses her upper body before shaking it out--a habit maintained from pre-soccer game rituals. “Okay. I’m going to listen. I’m going to cry. And then I’m going to focus on Friday.”

Glimmer and Bow hug her sides, squishing her. “That’s our girl.” 

Bow gets up and heads toward the fridge. “Ice cream? I feel like we all deserve a little chocolate right now.”

Adora couldn’t agree more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended this on a hopeful note. Who knew that was coming? Not me lol.
> 
> Turns out I want to shift POVs now. Glimmer and Bow are total fanboys but there's going to be a limit for even them on what they know. Bands don't go around advertising their trauma after all. Instead of tiptoing around details, I thought now would be a good time to show Catra's perspective. It's probably going to take longer to get the next one out as a result. I'd rather include it all in one rather than continue with these short-ish chapters cuz short chapters are a drag. 
> 
> The dark themes are going to continue because Catra's life hasn't been easy. With more detail, it's going to get rougher, so pls expect that. We'll get to enjoy more sarcasm and cursing with her tho (so pumped for that).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra thinks Shadow Weaver's full of bullshit so she sets off for answers. Thing is, this might be the dumbest idea of the fucking century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all,
> 
> Here's the first Catra POV chapter to provide more details about what happened.
> 
> Catra's bilingual so you'll see some Spanglish. I haven't included translations because the actual Spanish words are pretty limited--it's almost all curses with the one exception followed by a translation, so it doesn't seem necessary to me as long as y'all know she's got a potty mouth lol. Everything else in Spanish I've decided to right align and put in italics, that way it doesn't get mixed up with English but non-speakers still know what's going on. My Spanish is mas or menos so please correct me when I'm wrong. It's a personal headcannon of mine that Catra would speak both languages pretty regularly in day to day life and curse a lot in Spanish. Since she doesn't have family, my bet is she'd pick the curses up from what she heard, causing mixed dialectal cursing, which is actually what I'm used to.

Out of all the stupid, reckless, half-brain ideas Catra had in her life, this had to top it all. She’s stolen from stores, hotwired cars, gotten into fights with people twice her size-- _ mierda _ , there was even that time that she broke into the middle school, which was across the street from the  _ police station _ , to steal back the Coke bottle stuffed with poppers, water guns, and rainbow set of sharpies Mr. Scurvy had confiscated “permanently” from her and Adora. Yet here she is standing in a railyard at ass-crack o’clock in the morning, surrounded by freights hoping by some miracle that she found a train headed toward Kansas City. 

_ Surely they keep them organized...somehow. How the fuck do they tell what’s what? _

She shifts her bag and guitar on her back, thankful she had some sense to prepare.

_ Dioses _ , if the others look at the search history on the old iphone they share, unbeknownst to Shadow Weaver, they’re going to poke at her  _ relentlessly _ when she gets back.  _ Really Catra? How to train-hop? You’re googling how to be a hobo? _ She’s already annoyed just thinking about it, especially because she knows this is so fucking stupid. 

She’s both embarrassed and thankful for Kyle’s failed attempts at Boy Scouts and JROTC--thankful because they gave him free shit like a military rucksack and boots, but embarrassed because the rucksack smells like stale Axe and her decision to cut the toes off the boots leaves a lot to be desired. She hates wearing shoes, but knows she’s going to want protection for traveling and tries not to grumble too much. At least she can let her claws out. 

Without many options, she decided to wear the black Dickie’s overalls the mom and pop hardware store set her up with. Not that he gave them to her out of the goodness of his heart. Oh God, no. But Grizzlor wasn’t about to be caught paying a kid under the table shitty wages for catching rodents (inwardly she shivers.  _ Mice) _ , climbing up into tight places, and regularly getting fucked up because cotton isn’t much protection and charged with endangerment or some shit. They were so small that they never sold, so she lucked out--her first pair of brand new clothes! She snorts. But they were durable, water-resistant, had plenty of pockets, and reinforced knees, so whatever. She also took one of the dumb, black, hooded windbreakers with the lame  _ Beast Hardwear _ patch, too, and now has it wrapped around her waist. He about smited her out of existence when she took it but backed off when the Magicat nearly scratched his face off when, dripping wet, she seethed about having to fix the store’s satellite in the pouring rain.

Truth be told, she actually kind of liked working there, even if her boss was a fucking  _ pendejo _ . Anytime he’d order delivery, he always doubled the order and wordlessly gave her the other meal. He did a lot of shit like that, still feigning his hatred of her but doing actions that said otherwise. Grizzlor was one of the few people, and only adult, who’d shown Catra kindness. It makes the frown etched on her face sink deeper, knowing that this trip could change a lot of things. 

But it’s too late to go back. She’s already packed up--a jug of water, foot wrappings, spare undergarments, a long-sleeve, basic hygiene stuff, toilet paper, a big pack of ass wipes she stole from the hag’s private bathroom (Catra busted the lock--she’s not going to be there for her punishment anyway, so why be subtle?), her overflowing first aid kit, her painkillers, and whatever shit the groups taught Kyle to keep in there (she can’t remember everything, but she remembers duct tape, a map, and the rest looked important and useful, so good enough). On the top, there’s a sleeping back and hooked underneath, she has her well-used penny board. 

She inwardly apologizes again to Rogelio for stealing his stash of spam, which is bagged up with some expired jerky, two containers of peanut butter, and some of the hundreds of cans of tuna that Weaver bought to show social workers that she’s stocked on protein for Catra’s carnivorous diet  _ and _ to further degrade her as a person. The piles have stacked like a doomsday prepper’s over the years, but Weaver  _ insists _ on getting a can every time she goes grocery shopping because she sees the girl more as a stray cat than a foster kid, and fuck human decency when aparently speciesism is all the rage. 

_ Jodienda puta. _

She kicks a rock out of frustration and continues to sulk about the yard, ears perked to make sure she’s not going to run into security.

Jesus Christ, what the fuck is she  _ doing? _

There’s a small void in the pit of her stomach that pulses, ever present and ever growing. A wave of guilt masks it for a second.  _ I should be back there with the guys. They loved Adora too and-- _ she grits her teeth, stopping the thoughts there. Nope.  _ Nope _ . None of this made fucking sense. Whatever pieces Weaver was trying to lay out for them were clearly fucked, like someone mixed a kid’s puzzle with an adult’s. Catra knew Adora better than  _ herself _ ; did she really think she’d buy that? One day she’s in a  _ screaming match _ with some fucking stranger and the next Adora’s--no. She had a gut feeling when she saw the car pull away, so she wrote down the car make and model. She wrote down the Kansas plates and what she could from the shit ton of stickers of boring crap in, apparently, Kansas City. She wrote down the name on the back of the jersey he wore-- _ Grayskull _ . And then she fucking googled it. All of it. And got a location-- _ Grayskull & Partners Law _ , KCK--and a name: Adam Grayskull. 

So damn it all to hell and back, she’s fucking going because that’s where she’s going to get her answers. After all, confronting Shadow Weaver about it  _ clearly _ didn’t go well. 

Her abdomen throbs at the thought and the pain makes her sweat. 

_ Mierda _ , Catra should’ve known better. The woman was the least put together she’d ever seen her--frazzled hair, stained, wrinkled robes, empty wine bottles. But how the hell was Catra supposed to know she had a steak knife just casually resting by her glass of red? Honestly, she thought Weaver was moving to push her away but when the blade shone in the dim lighting of the room, it was too late to react and then bam--she’s got a knife sticking out of her. 

Then, she’s got the crusty old  _ bruja  _ making her gulp down wine as she phones for an ambulance. She’s on the floor, reeling-- _ bleeding _ \--and instead of getting a towel or something to help stop the blood loss, she’s making her choke on glass because  _ if you think for one second they’ll believe you with that much alcohol in your system, you’re wrong. _

And  _ por Dios _ , they didn’t even ask her what happened. They listened to Weaver tell her tale of her troubled foster child who stole a bottle from the gas station and  _ yadah yadah _ because it doesn’t matter--they ate it up without any doubt. But they stitched her up and gave her a shit ton of Oxy, so bygones.

Catra’s popping one in her mouth when she hears feet lightly running along the gravel. It catches her by surprise, so she hastily throws herself behind one of the freights, hoping the whatever didn’t see the movement. Patiently, she waits and listens. She is  _ not _ getting caught before she’s even started, so Catra’s going to play this very carefully. 

“Hello, dearie.”

But not quietly, she guesses, as suddenly she’s jumping out of her skin, the fur on her body standing upright with her tail completely bushed out. 

Instinctively, she hisses. “ ¡Coño!  Who the fuck are you and why are you sneaking up on me?”

The person in front her is old. Like  _ old _ old. Practically dust wrapped in purple rags (or robes? A dress?). Her circular glasses are thick and make her eyes large like a bug’s, unnerving in the way they seem to see everything around them.  _ Christ, does she even blink?  _ But her lips rest in a slight smile and her face is relaxed in a way that shows no malicious intent, so Catra retracts her claws.

The dinosaur steps forward, using an upside-down wooden broom like a walking stick as she steps into her personal space until her nose is a hair from Catra’s. “You look lost, C’yra.”

Catra hisses again, taking a step backwards. “That’s not my name.”

“But you are lost. You won’t find what you’re looking for over here. Come.”

And dust-lady is off, walking at a brisk pace in the opposite direction Catra had been going, out in the open like they both weren’t trespassing or anything. Nope, just a leisurely walk in the park. 

She pauses when she notices the girl isn’t following and comes back close enough to wack her with the broom.

“Hey!”

“You’re too slow, C’yra. Our ship is setting sail soon. We must be leaving.”

The bag of bones seems to float off the ground as she bolts, leaving Catra stunned and tripping over herself to catch up. “Ship?  _ We _ ?”

“Less questions, more running!”

And sure enough, she rounds a freight to see another on a track gaining speed.

Thankfully, Catra is fast, so she catches up pretty quickly. She watches as the old lady  _ somehow _ , with all the grace in the world, scrambles up the ladder to the back of a car and swings herself into the well. Catra is just happy she grabbed on without ripping her arm out of socket.

The train had to have been going at least fifteen miles per hour, but her best guess is that it was twenty. The gravel by the rails slowed her down but not a lot with the boots to give her traction where her claws couldn’t-- _ a good idea after all _ . Being so close to such a massive, moving, potential death trap made her mouth dry and throat tighten, and the moments she lingered on the ladder before she hopped behind the double stack made her dizzy, but she got in as soon as possible.

Her heart is exploding in her ears as she sinks down into the well that, thankfully, has a bottom, and for a moment, revels in the adrenaline rush that accompanies it. 

_ That was fucking stupid _ . But also,  _ that was fucking awesome! _

Even with the deafening sound of the train clicking over the rails, she can hear herself laughing and she can’t help the lighthearted feeling the quick adventure brought. By some miracle, she doesn’t even have it in her to face grandma hobo again with the same attitude as before.  _ I guess adrenaline softens me up _ . She tingles from the tips of her fingers to her toes, but there’s more than one reason for that.  _ And Oxy.  _

Said ancient hobo has managed to peel the door open to the car and shoos the girl inside. Once in, she brings the door almost all the way shut, wedging her broom so it can’t lock them in, Catra guesses. 

The inside of the container is lit only by the crack of light coming through the door, so Catra turns on the flashlight that’s attached to the strap of the pack. It’s only half-full, the back half having pallets wrapped in plastic. There’s a thick, greasy, metal scent to the air, but also that of dust, sawdust, and dirt. To its credit, the container isn’t as dirty as she might’ve expected if she were looking at it from the outside but it’s still dingy, particles constantly shifting in the air with the rattle of the tracks. The rattle vibrates through her entire body and her ears, despite her positive shift in demeanor, are flat against her head as the sound overwhelms her senses.

Catra takes the red bandana keeping back her mane of hair off, trying to makeshift the cloth into something to dull the noise. She’s cursing under her breath-- _ carajote _ \--when the grandma intrudes into her personal bubble once again. Her face contorts and she has a quip on the end of her tongue when she’s interrupted.

“Hush,  _ hija _ .  _ Para tus orejas _ .” 

She slips silicone into her ears. 

Catra slowly brings her hands up, molds the putty so it blocks her ear canals, and the world is infinitely quieter. A blush works up onto her face and her chest stings, guilty at having snapped at the woman helping her even through the irritation masking it. Perhaps it’s the surprise that made her vulnerable. 

She opens her mouth, hoping the other knows enough to be conversational. 

“ _ You speak Spanish.”  _

The woman has pulled a blanket out of her bag and is sitting on it, blowing lazily into a pan flute. 

“ _ And you are a Puma.”  _

Catra’s eyes widen in shock and the other must’ve noticed because she’s already speaking again. 

“ _ Relax, dearie. I mean you no harm. I’m of the Quechua so I’m familiar with the tribe.”  _

That doesn’t dull Catra’s surprise. She’s never,  _ ever _ , met anyone who saw her as anything other than a Magicat. It’s her species, yes, but there are damn near a hundred prides in the Americas with a small number of surviving descendents. Fuck, this  _ stranger _ gets it in a second when it’d taken her and Adora a week researching at the library to figure it out.

…..

“Are you sure about this, Catra?”

She remembers vividly the gap in Adora’s front teeth. A week earlier, it was wiggling loose, so they decided to tie a string around it and a ball. Her, Rogelio, Lonnie, and Kyle had played Elements to choose who got to throw it. 

Rogelio had made the jabbing motion for lightning with his hands, but his  _ bzzt  _ was more of a growl because he couldn’t pronounce words like them. The growl turned into a cheer as he watched Lonnie make waves and the water drop noise. When she saw, she groaned, but Rogelio’s face fell upon seeing Catra’s fist, having missed the  _ brkk _ noise she made for Earth. Kyle had watched her, though, and his face was already down, having made the  _ fwoosh _ noise and motion for wind. Catra had been close to yelling in triumph but when she saw the younger boy’s lip quiver and eyes drop in sadness, she sighed, claiming she had cheated so he could throw the ball instead. That led to a wimpy toss that made Adora cry out. The lack of force kept the tooth in her gums but it was enough to bother it, making blood spill out of her mouth. 

_ Híjole _ .  _ What a mess _ .

Karma came to Kyle in the form of an eighth grade bully punching a tooth out of the sixth grader. Adora and Catra were in seventh grade, which was on the opposite side of the school from the main hallway where sixth graders travelled from electives to core classes and eighth graders went from core to electives. Gossip didn’t run fast enough that day, so Catra found out after school when their group met to walk back to the home together. 

She remembers the  _ fury _ of taking in his busted, bruised lip and his puppy-dog eyes. She’d gotten angry before, but it had always been mixed with jealousy, like when Adora played with Lonnie instead of her, or guilt, like when she did something wrong and Weaver punished her. This was the first time in Catra’s life that that feeling was pure, and every protective bone in her body screamed to put the  _ culo  _ into place, no matter how much bigger she was than her. 

Adora knew the bully from team sports, so she also knew she went to the public library everyday after school when there wasn’t practice with her friends while she waited for her dad to get off of work. Catra capitalized on that knowledge and sent the others home while she and Adora, who knew where the library was and was always attached at her hip, went off to find her.

“I’m 1,000 percent sure,” she spat, pulling open the door to the building. 

It didn’t take long to find them; they were back in the teens area cackling loudly while the librarian shot them dirty looks. 

“Distract the librarian. I’ve got this.”

Adora, still small but ever Catra’s protector, froze, eyebrows shooting high. “Are you sure? There’s three of them and they’re twice your size.”

“Positive. What’s the _perra_ ’s name?”

“Octavia. Are you sure--” but Catra was already walking off. 

She waited in the shadow of a bookcase, and not a few minutes later Octavia’s friends--twins by the looks--were waving her goodbye. Catra signaled Adora to distract and approached the massive octopus-hybrid. 

“Hey  _ puta,  _ _ suéltase en banda _ .” She called her  _ puta  _ with purpose--everyone knew that was a curse. 

Quickly, the blue girl was up on her feet, cracking her knuckles. “Dare you to translate that, kitty.”

Catra snorted. “I called you a  _ bitch _ and told you to  _ leave him alone _ .”

The other laughed. “Him? Let me guess--that scrawny foster nerd I wrecked earlier.”

“You mean  _ my _ scrawny foster nerd. Leave him alone or  _ yo chingaré tu madre. _ ”

A deep blue rose up the other girl’s throat. “What was that about my mom, faggot?”

Catra ignored the insult--everyone knew she was gay; she’d come out the year before. But they also knew better than to fuck with her, so she snarled. “Come and find out.” 

She took off behind the stacks in the opposite direction of the front desk and the  octopus-hybrid followed. She wove in and out of the aisles, frustrating the girl as she continually lost sight of the Magicat. Eventually, she started throwing books and one particularly heavy one hit Catra between her shoulders, knocking her to the floor. The older girl was there in an instant, thinking she had the advantage, but Catra turned the tables and leapt upward, clawing across her face. The blue giant howled and Catra capitalized on the opportunity by knocking her down and roughly grabbing her throat with her clawed fingers. 

The black points were slowly digging in, drawing blood as she bared her teeth, making the larger girl under her lose color. “Listen closely, Octavia. You and your buddies stay away from him and all the other  _ foster nerds  _ for that matter or next time, I’ll rip out your throat.” She dug in even more and Octavia whimpered. In her peripheral vision, she saw the librarian and Adora hustling over to the commotion so she had to be quick. “Got it?” The second the fucker was nodding, tears in her eyes, Catra shifted out of view. She moved further down to the end of the stacks and Adora noticed, breaking apart from the older woman to stand by her friend.

The librarian was so angry she didn’t notice the  octopus-hybrid’ s wounds since she covered her eye with her hand. “You! I’m sick of your behavior in my library. Get out and never come back!”

The girl scrambled, not even bothering to grab her pack as she bolted for the door. When she ran past the two, Catra smirked widely, canines poking out. “Dumb face!”

Adora threw an arm over her shoulders. “Yeah! Never come back dumb face!” 

They’re giggling when Adora walked toward the librarian, who looked at the mess in disdain. Catra followed.

“Ma’am, I don’t think I need help anymore. But thank you!” Adora’s goofy smile was intoxicating to everyone, so while Catra’s heart flopped in her chest, the librarian softened and said okay before walking off to get a cart. 

Catra wasn’t surprised when the blonde started picking up the books and stacking them in neat piles. In fact, she just rolled her eyes with admiration.  _ She’s cute _ . The blush that attacked her calm features made her stiffen and she quickly turned out of the other’s sight, but Adora wasn’t paying attention. She was lifting up the huge book Octavia hit her with earlier.

“Hey Catra, check this out.” Grey and hardback with a collage of Magicats in ancestral clothing, the title read  _ Magicat Tribes of Mexico _ . “What do you think they mean ‘tribes?’”

At the time, Catra was stunned to silence, and she thinks back to it with bittersweet fondness. This was when she found out who she was--Adora asked the librarian the same question and the woman looked at the system and wrote down every book on Magicat tribes that they had. Every day for a week, Adora dragged her to the library to research, comparing and contrasting Catra’s features with that of the others shown or told about on their list. It was the beaded cross necklace--the only thing besides Spanish that Catra had from before she was placed in that box on the steps of the foster home--that helped them figure it out, though. Catra always had it wrapped around her wrist, so when one book defined it as Incan, that brought them to Peru and they found them--Catra’s ancestral tribe. 

According to the book, the dominant pride--the term Magicats apparently prefer to use for tribal groupings--of the region was the  _ Puma _ . The  _ Puma _ were a neutral pride that lived alongside the Incas and Chankas, who were enemies. The Incas feared them as baby-snatchers but the Chankas worshipped them as Gods, modeling their deity after the first chieftain they came into contact with. It was through Chanka influence that cougars, who the pride revered as the Mother of their people, were given the name puma (the pride had named themselves after their name for the animal, so it was a matter of  _ others _ accepting and using that name too). When those empires fell, the  _ Pumas  _ seamlessly fit into the Quechua peoples, the worship and fear having canceled out any biases toward the pride. 

The ecstasy of seeing people just like her--Magicats with tan/orange skin, some with stripes and some with heterochromia--gave Catra  _ identity _ . She remembers holding the necklace wrapped on her wrist close, lip quivering and tears threatening to fall. Adora had been so kind, whispering reassurances and holding her close. It’s a good memory but one that saddens her, now knowing how unfortunate it is that her culture was almost lost to her and how she couldn’t have the one she loved with her today, smiling brightly with understanding, sparkling blue eyes radiating warmth. 

_ Loved. _ She still  _ loves  _ her, even with the soulless void of  _ what if _ threatening to consume her. 

The memories and feelings ground Catra’s surprise, and she feels herself sinking to the floor of the railcar, eyes flooded and heavy. 

She doesn’t move when the old woman patters over to her, taking off her guitar and bag to place them on the floor. She brings her blanket to Catra’s spot and pulls her onto it before wrapping the girl in her warm, knitted shawl.

_ “Why, Abuelita.” _

It came out more of a statement than a question, weak to her own ears but the woman heard.

_ “When you get to my age, you just do. You just know things.” _

Catra hums softly and sits back against the metal wall of the car.

_ “I don’t know what I’m doing. I know why, but for what purpose? I just don’t want to accept the answers I’ve been given. They reek with fakeness and lies, so I’m going but I don’t even know what to expect once I get there.” _

_ “You are young, C’yra. Of course you do not know, but do not be so hard on yourself. You must search for the truth when it is lost, and accept it once you’ve found it.” _

Catra gulps.

_ “And if I already have?” _

The old woman grabs her hand.

_ “Then we move forward.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol you know how I said I wanted to put it all in one?
> 
> Welp.
> 
> Turns out train hopping is COOL as FUCK and writing Catra is fun so it's going to stretch a bit. I'm planning on having a few more chapters that jump in time to show the major plot points but maybe have a side series to show the in-betweens. It'd act as a prelude of sorts and dig into Catra's character more without prolonging the reunion more than necessary. For now, here's this and hold on to your horses--they'll meet once the foundation has been properly laid; I promise :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra finds what appears to be the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyoo here we go again!
> 
> I think I'm getting into the grove of stuff now so like. Finally. Hoping to go back and edit the first few chapters cuz those are rough as fuck. For now, enjoy the update!
> 
> The song Catra begins to write is Duality by Slipknot but actually The Horde in this fic. Fyi, their version is going to be, you guessed it, CrazyEightyEight's cover. The song Catra sings in the flash back ISN'T one of hers--it's Don't Dream It's Over by Crowded House. Ugh, I fucking love that song more than I love most people.

Catra thanks whatever Gods there may be for Madame Razz because by now she’d have either been caught and arrested, broken her neck or otherwise terribly maimed, or lost as _fuck_ if she were on her own. But here she was on her sixth train--one headed into Kansas City. They’ve run into a few other train hoppers and those who know Razz (the friendly ones, that is) treat her like a legend, and for good reason. While the others listen to scanners to hopefully figure out where a train is going, Razz just _knows_. She knows when to get off, where to hide out of sight from workers and bulls, and which trains will lead them toward their destination the soonest. 

Which is another thing--something that bewilders her: Catra has no idea why Razz is still here nor why she appeared in the first place. She has no motive to help her and from what she’s gathered, she’s a loner. Razz doesn’t travel with _others_ . From what peoples’ stories have told, Razz follows her own compass and clock. The shock on their dirty faces when they find out that Razz didn’t just happen to be hitching the same train, but Catra’s been with her for over a week and they’re headed toward the same destination is dramatic. Like, not just an _oh wow, how about that_ but a _really?? No fucking way_ kind of surprise. 

Catra’s really warmed up to Razz’s company, which sits weirdly in her mouth when she thinks of speaking those words. She doesn’t warm up to people. Catra is as prickly and unfriendly as they get except to a certain few. The only people she’s _kind of_ been tolerable to besides her small foster family are Grizzlor and Hordak but she was only _slightly_ less hostile. Razz is completely different. She’s at ease in the older woman’s presence. The old bag of bones wasn’t just taking care of herself, but Catra too--sharing meals, giving her blanket to her when she shivered in the night, detangling her messy locks. Fuck, Catra’s even taken to calling her _Abuelita_ . The second time she called her that, Razz didn’t react, but Catra stunned herself to silence. The first time, she thought it was a slip from her overwhelmed brain but she’s been calling her that since. It’s beyond weird to her but here she is taking comfort in the other’s presence, even feeling pangs of _sadness_ at the thought of her leaving once they reach the city.

She’s been meaning to ask but always stumbles over her own tongue. In under two weeks, Razz has become something of a parental figure to her and the thought of her taking off hurts her more than the embarrassment of acknowledging her thoughts toward her do. Catra knows it’s going to come up sometime. Fuck, probably even today--they were _so close_ to KC. Her sense of time on a train has gotten better, but they’ve been on this one for awhile so she can’t tell how far they have to go. In all likelihood, they’re going to get there before the sun sets in a few hours and she’ll be going to Greyskull’s practice. What then? The anxiety of actually being there is gnawing at her relentlessly. She hasn’t slept since boarding, instead choosing to strum at the guitar and write down song lyrics, pitches, rhythms, and tabs in the notebook Kyle left in the backpack. 

_Coño_ , she’s just about gotten a completed song mapped out. The chorus in particular keeps ringing through her head and out her mouth in loud hums. 

_I push my fingers into my eyes_

_It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache_

_But it's made of all the things I have to take_

_Jesus, it never ends, it works it's way inside_

_If the pain goes on_

The chorus is repeated a few times during the song. Only once does she take out the third and fourth lines, the Jesus, and ends with _I’m not going to make it!_ It seems too appropriate to growl elsewhere to release the anger caused by her frustration. She’s had to ease up on the guitar, worried about breaking the strings or _worse_. 

She played without a pick--who needs one when she has strong claws?--but that held a danger to the instrument that she was already well-experienced with.

It’s become natural to slip into memories as the train bullets forward, so she doesn’t fight it when recollection takes over her thoughts again.

…

Catra’s been playing for about four years since some old coot took pity on the orphans, dropping off some cheap instruments one day when she was eleven and Shadow Weaver wasn’t home. Fuck, the _bruja_ would’ve turned them to wood chips--well, more like plastic, really--if she’d been there. But she wasn’t, so when Adora answered the door, she was so ecstatic and charming that the old man couldn’t care about their guardian’s thoughts on the donation; you just couldn’t say no to her. So he brought the stuff in and when he left, Catra flooded the scene, hissing and swiping at the bumbly, snot-nosed kids who’d break them _instantly_ once they got them in their hands. Despite being so eager, they all turned off with their tails between their legs, scared of getting cut. There wasn’t a whole lot anyway; the guy probably thought they’d share, but since when do kids do that? 

So her small family stood around the pile, Catra grabbing one of the guitar cases immediately. Her vision was so focused that she didn’t even see that one of them was bigger than the others. Lonnie did, though, and grabbed it before Kyle. She wanted a _guitar_ but actually grabbed a _bass_ . Despite that, her eyes lit up the same as Catra’s and Kyle’s when they plucked their strings and as Rogelio while he tried to put together the drum set _right there_ in the entryway. Adora hung back and Catra felt a little ashamed at her selfishness--the other girl always felt guilty, knowing she got new clothes, school supplies, toys, and more while the others got whatever hand-me-downs and Goodwill shit Weaver carelessly gave them. She could tell Adora wanted the instruments as much as the others but bit her tongue abashedly, so she scooted over to Adora, putting half the guitar in her lap too. 

_Dios_ , then that _smile_. Catra has so many of those permanently pressed into her brain it isn’t funny. Adora ended up being crap at anything musical--she even sang like a crow--but Catra didn’t regret sharing in the beginning when she thought Adora had as much capability at learning as she. Catra was excited beyond belief but that didn’t mean she could sacrifice Adora’s happiness for her own. To her surprise (but also not), it didn’t take a month before Adora gave up, choosing to read or watch Catra practice instead.

In time, the guitar had slashes all over the surface from Catra’s claws. It was an awful learning process in that regard and she was thankful the thing was cheap. To this day, it was something she worried about. Any time she played her guitar with strong emotion, anxiety made her extra careful. Thousands of practice hours (and several method books she may or may not have stolen from the bookstore and Hordak) later have made her mastery increase, but there was still the chance she could slip. Now that she had _this_ guitar, the thought made her queasy. Fuck, it being with her on this psycho-trip was nauseating. The damage that could be done…

About two years ago right after she began working for Grizzlor to buy a van, she and Adora popped into the pawn-shop down the street from the store for fuck’s sake. It had a lot of shit and the owner _clearly_ had no idea how to price things. Jewelry labeled _solid gold_ was visibly plated, scuffs revealing different metal beneath, junk worth pennies labeled the price of a used car--that kind of bad. Obviously, Catra ran straight toward the guitars when she saw them and scoffed. The store had several Fenders, but because of the brand, Catra guessed he thought that meant they should be _expensive_ , so used, beginner models of stratocasters, even some _bullets_ were fielding high in the quadruple digits. Guitars she should’ve been able to afford with some hard work doing her child labor job were priced far out of her league. In anger, she almost took off right there. But hiding at the end of the rack against the wall was a dark, faded, sunburst acoustic. She’d checked the price of all the others and was turning to leave, but Adora caught her.

“You didn’t look at this one.” 

And _los Dioses_ , she had to bite down onto her hand to prevent the monumentous cackle bursting up her throat from echoing throughout the entire store, potentially causing questions and revealing the truth behind the find. Tears about fell down her face in gratefulness for her luck and the owner’s absolute idiocy. _Immediately_ , she fell in love, and Adora watched her with a strange expression. The girl seemed confused and also shocked, but in a way that looked different from her surprised face. She didn’t even say anything; just stood there, wide-eyed, lips parted, watching Catra as she had her moment. 

Catra pulled the guitar from the rack, a smile growing as she took in the V-class bracing before peering into the hollow of the guitar. When her suspicions weren’t just confirmed, but _more_ than, the smile split her face in the purest joy she’d felt in what seemed like _forever_ . There were always strings attached or shadows lurking when she was happy. Yet, here she was, a Taylor Builder’s K14ce in hand marked _two hundred fucking dollars._ Excitedly, but hushed, she asked Adora to stay there with it while she ran back to the home. The girl was completely out of it and all Catra noted was the dumb nod of her head. When she came back, she had all her saved earnings, $100, in her pocket and Adora was more put together.

“Follow my lead.”

_Híjole,_ what a _show_ Catra put on. As they left, Catra joked that she should be an actor. The disdain of a foster kid who’ll never be able to afford something as _magnificent_ as a used Fender _stratocaster_ , the _woe_ and _acceptance_ of having to settle for something so _subclass_ , so “off-brand” as a fucking _Taylor._ The rapid-fire bartering between her and the owner ended when he slipped over his tongue in the back and forth--“$75”--and Catra jumped in before he could correct himself--“tell you what. $75 seems a little low. How about an even $100.” And the man, sighing to himself at the increase despite his fuck-up, was too relieved to realize he sold the thing at half-price, said “deal,” and only yelled “hey, wait!” when Catra and Adora were running out of the store. 

Adora seemed to lap up every word as Catra boasted about the score but she didn’t seem to actually care much about the guitar. Still, Catra was glad she had the other girl with her. Sharing was a difficult thing for her, especially when the _what_ was Adora, but it made the whole thing that much sweeter to have her there. She was bursting at the seams but by fuck felt _humbled_ by Adora’s attention and shared enthusiasm. As much as she wanted to celebrate the guitar, every cell in her body said celebrate _Adora,_ and so she did.

She checked the sun in the sky before speaking. “Do you know when Weaver’s gonna be back tonight?”

Adora thought for a moment. “Actually, she apologized this morning and said she would be back late so I’d have to share dinner with the--” she straightened her posture and put on a stone face, accent overdone as she mimicked Weaver’s “-- _disappointments_.” When she made a gross face and stuck out her tongue, Catra giggled. 

“¡Órale!” She grabbed Adora’s hand, laughing when the girl stumbled, having frozen at the contact, and they ran down the street with the guitar strapped to Catra’s back. 

Dinner was always at 7 on the dot, so they had the time that she wanted as she pulled them down the hill through the park, past the playground, through the trees, past the creek they jokingly called a _river_ , and toward their spot--the base of a massive eastern cottonwood with large roots overlooking the edge of another tremendously tall, sloping hill. Every year, her and Adora threw on their coats, four layers, and chucked themselves down it during the winter. They couldn’t afford sleds so they tucked in their arms and legs and rolled down. It’s caused many bruises and twisted ankles, but it was one of the few things that was _theirs_ and neither was about to get rid of it.

Catra plotted them down between the roots right next to their markings on the tree--C + A with their bad, painstakingly carved cartoonish faces. Adora is struggling to catch her breath and her flushed face causes Catra to chuckle.

“Oh come _on_ , I didn’t run that fast.” As strong as the other was, Catra had always been faster. Adora could beat her at a lot of things but she couldn’t outrun the Magicat--a fact that made the _Puma_ smug.

A few beats later, Adora shook her head, mumbling “whatever” under her breath as if Catra’s cat ears wouldn’t hear her. 

She decided to have mercy, humming a response instead of pouncing on the blonde while she brought the guitar into her lap. She tuned it, arrogant knowing her “perfect pitch,” as Wiki called it, meant she brought the _Taylor_ to its peak perfection. Catra’s just finishing up when the sun tickles the horizon. 

“What should the first song on _mi c_ _ariño nuevo_ be?” 

Adora’s eyebrows rose comically. “You want me to pick it?”

Catra grinned. “I wouldn’t have it now if you didn’t point it out, so it’s your choice.”

She could’ve swore Adora’s cheeks reddened but brushed it off as wishful thinking in the glow of the orange sunset. 

“Would you sing, too?” The other girl asked it quietly, looking hopeful in a way that was timid on the surface of what she wanted but actually intense beneath. 

Catra didn’t have the willpower to tease her, softly responding with “whatever you want, _idiota_ ” instead.

It’s worth it--almost more than the guitar when Adora melts a bit into the tree, requesting “our song.”

Catra knows it by heart and immediately starts strumming.

Together they revel in the sound of the chords being fleshed out in proper intonation for the first time. Catra usually doesn’t take so long to start singing but she extends the intro to enjoy the guitar a little longer before losing herself in the ecstasy of performing with such a divine instrument. 

_There is freedom within_

_There is freedom without_

_Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup_

_There's a battle ahead_

_Many battles are lost_

_But you'll never see the end of the road_

_While you're traveling with me_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Don't dream it's over_

_Hey now, hey now_

_When the world comes in_

_They come, they come_

_To build a wall between us_

_We know they won't win_

Adora had completely relaxed into their little nook, half resting on Catra and half resting on the roots so she could still watch her play. Catra remembers how saccharine her heart felt, how the sweetness clogged up her pores and made her dizzy with _Adora_.

_Now I'm towing my car_

_There's a hole in the roof_

_My possessions are causing me suspicion but there's no proof_

_In the paper today_

_Tales of war and of waste_

_But you turn right over to the T.V. page_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Don't dream it's over_

_Hey now, hey now_

_When the world comes in_

_They come, they come_

_To build a wall between us_

_We know they won't win_

Adora began to sing softly under her breath with Catra. It was pitchy, but the emotion the girl put into it was all that mattered to her. After all, this was the blonde’s favorite verse. She loved the very end of the song, so Catra did too and made sure she hit every note and chord correctly. 

_Now I'm walking again_

_To the beat of a drum_

_And I'm counting the steps to the door of your heart_

_Only shadows ahead_

_Barely clearing the roof_

_Get to know the feeling of liberation and release_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Don't dream it's over_

_Hey now, hey now_

_When the world comes in_

_They come, they come_

_To build a wall between us_

_You know they won't win_

_Don't let them win_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Hey now, hey now_

_Don't let them win_

_They come, they come_

_Don't let them win_

_Hey now, hey now (yeah)_

_Hey now, hey now_

When the song ended, Adora kissed her on the cheek. The feeling it gave her feels like the feeling Catra gets when the Oxy starts to kick in--just warmth--no pain, no despair--spreading to every inch of her body, washing over her mind. What Adora gave her was better; she knows the pills are artificial but it’s as close as she’s going to get to her right now. _Or ever again_. Catra swallows a pill and tries to place herself back in that moment, heart pounding like crazy but so _free_ with the other at her side, watching the sun set.

She wants to stay in that moment, but the memory pushes forward to later that evening when she first met Hordak. It’s just barely starting when the train begins to slow but as she scrambles to pack her things, peaking over the side of the well with Razz to see when they’d need, and could, hop out, he skips through her mind.

Jack Horde’s father, Primus, had some connection with Weaver and the foster home. Catra didn’t know what but it _stunk_. Good ole Jackie boy seemed to smell it too. She could tell he didn’t know what he was looking at when he visited the home. She also got the sense that it was a good thing Weaver wasn’t there. Maybe curiosity, maybe paranoia--something about his father brought him to the home. Catra knows enough now to know that Hordak was desperately trying to stay in his father’s good graces but it’d begun to slip the last couple years. Yet, even if he still had his nose shoved up Primus’ butt, he was an asset that her, Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio couldn’t afford to give up. 

She’s taking another peak when the thought takes her, bringing forward another guilty pang. _It’s only for a little while longer_ . After she finds Adora, they’ll head back home. Then she’ll apologize for leaving and the group would practice together. Maybe they’d catch a bus to Ann Arbor to see Lord Grumpy, bothering the young professor to teach them more music theory. Hordak always complained when they showed up as if he hadn’t heard them practicing the day he knocked on that door, surprised to find _pre-teens_ making that music, and offered to “hone their mediocrity into something greater.” She rolls her eyes at that and surprises herself with thoughts of looking forward to seeing him again, even though she knows they’ll fight. 

Jack Horde-- _God that’s such a mouthful. Hordak_ , and her had an interesting relationship. The others did what he said, but Catra always felt the need to push back. The dude could be a real dick and she wasn’t about to let him walk on them like that. She was grateful for the opportunity, yeah, and she was learning _a lot_ , but she knew he wouldn’t abandon them because of her mouth. Catra could spot abandonment issues a mile away-- _takes one to know one_ \--and knew he’d never throw in the towel, so _ni de pedo_. She’ll shut up when he learns what _she’s_ got to teach _him_ . Maybe not _manners_ (as if she had them) but perhaps some fucking people skills.

Catra’s chuckling to herself when the train slows to enough of a crawl that they can jump out without issue. Immediately, Razz and her are in the woods, moving quickly to get out of danger. They’re shuffling through the trees when they come to the stop sign they saw earlier by the tracks. Great--a road. But Catra has no fucking clue to get where she needs to go. Not that it matters; Razz has already taken off in the _opposite_ direction of civilization.

_“Abuelita, wait. Do you know where you’re headed?”_

_“Yes. Do you?”_

She groans.

_“To be honest, not really.”_

_“Ha! She admits it!”_

_“Ugh! Whatever.”_

_“You’ll want to head that way.”_

The old woman stops, pointing the other way down the road.

Catra’s ears are flat on her head and she tries--and fails--to prevent herself from looking as small as she feels. She figured Razz would take off, but now? 

She’s such a _carajote_ ; this was _her_ plan, not Razz’s. This was her demon to face and it was on her to go to hell and back for Adora. Razz didn’t even know her. So Catra un-slumps her shoulders, forces herself to hold her head high. _I’ve got this. It’ll be fine. I needed help getting out here, but this is where things get easier. I can handle this myself_. She tells herself this but still shrinks when Razz walks over to her, resting her grey, wrinkled hand on her cheek.

_“Mi querida, do not be so small. You are a fierce one! So very strong.”_

_“I know but--”_

Catra stops herself, breaking eye contact and looking at the ground. She isn’t going to say it; she’s not weak. She’s not, not even when the hand moves up from her face to scratch the back of her head and she purrs.

_“See, what did I tell you? It takes so much strength to ask for help when you need it.”_

She tenses immediately, a retort milliseconds from flying off her barb of a tongue when the woman continues.

_“It's okay, hija. You do not need words to ask what you need. I already know. I cannot join you for this part of your journey but I will be back; this I promise.”_

Catra feels an ounce of relief, but the vulnerability unveils her fear, too, and it makes her want to plead with the woman not to go. She’s never had to brave such fear alone before. What would she do if she failed? How was she supposed to move forward?

_“Do not doubt yourself. You are very capable and have to prove that to no one, not even yourself. You wouldn’t be here otherwise, no? Things will be alright if you work to make them so.”_

Catra sighs, leaning into her touch with heavy eyes. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to make eye contact with Razz.

_“When will I see you again, Abuelita? How will I find you?”_

_“_ _I_ will find _you. It might take some time, but I will find you again. Remember that you are loved, querida. You are never alone and won’t be even when I go. Si?”_

The hand drops and she stands on her own. She speaks softly.

“ _Si.”_

…

Catra only cries for a little after they part. She doesn’t have time to be sad and tells herself that like some sort of mantra.

_Keep going._

_Adora needs you._

_You are strong._

_You are strong._

_You are strong._

Walking through the city takes _forever_ . It’s not Detroit, so she doesn’t have her claws out, hissing at anyone who makes eye contact, but traffic still rushes by her without a care, hybrids gather in the alleyways, and people rush by her when she makes it toward the busier part of the city. She’s tempted to grab one of them and force them to tell her where the nearest library is, but unfamiliarity makes her hesitant. That and the crinkled noses of those who walk too close to her, catching whiffs of what’s definitely _not_ Chanel N°5 and the accompanying glares. If she weren’t so nervous, she’d rub it in. _Come on handsome, don’t you know hobo chic is in? I’ll bottle my essence up for you for $20._ Catra snorts but the smile she forces doesn’t reach her eyes. 

She has no idea how much time passes before she finds one and rushes in, not caring how dingy and desperate she looks as she throws herself onto the nearest bench, resting her feet and catching her breath in the air conditioning. When she’s cooled off, she heads to the bathroom to freshen up after she’s locked the door. 

Catra honestly can’t gather the energy to care how sketchy she is wetting down paper towels and lathering herself with hand soap. Freighters didn’t have showers, so she and Weaver’s asswipes got _real_ acquainted. She only used them once when she swore she smelled like vomit. A couple of rains had allowed her to jump into puddles and scrub herself while they waited for their next ride, but this was her first real opportunity to go to town on her fur. And _Dioses_ , every hair on her body _sobs_ when she cleans the grime and sweat away. Still, despite how much she wants to just throw herself into a sink and go to town, she has business to take care of, so she unlocks the bathroom door and tries to look like she hadn’t just bathed in a public restroom.

Finding an open computer wasn’t terribly difficult. Using Google to find the address and directions to Greyskull’s wasn’t, either. So she promptly wrote the streets down on her notebook, using an additional page for directions from there to the nearest railyard, too. Catra guesses that she spent maybe a half hour in the library and honestly, most of that time was resting and cleaning off.

She’s beyond pleased with the time she’s making--it was just turning 4pm when she left the library and the practice closed at 5, so she’d make it right before then if she hurried. Catra’s so pleased with herself that the impending confrontation doesn’t dawn on her until she’s looking at a glass door, staring at the white letters reading _Greyskull_ , and feeling the weight of everything that was about to happen hit her like a car crash. 

And _mierda_ , she feels every imaginary piece of glass ripping through her skin and embedding into her bones. 

_No time, Adora needs me._

She’s repeating that endlessly when the door opens and she scrambles for a hiding place. The man at the door is locking it, turned away, so she takes the opportunity to hide behind the bushes, shoving her stuff between them and the building as she tries to calm her hyperventilating breaths. 

The man putts around the front of the building, slowly moving back and forth on an invisible line while he speaks. His posture reads tired and anxious and stressed and _Dioses,_ Catra too. He’s silent as he listens to the other person on the phone. In fact, he hasn’t said anything so far; just wrinkled brows, intensely focusing on words Catra can’t hear.

When he finally opens his mouth, Catra nearly falls out of the bushes, trying to make sure she can hear every word even though her Magicat ears can even pick up the sounds of the chirping cricket across the street.

“I know hun, I know. I’m sorry I’m missing it. Honestly, I’m not even lying when I say I was actually looking forward to dinner with your parents. I wanted to try out that new barbeque recipe I made. Thought your dad would love it.” He sighs and stops, tilting his gaze upward. “But I have to do this for Adam. He’s a _wreck_ Abby. I’ve never seen him so out of sorts. Please know this isn’t just some elaborate excuse to do anything other than see the in-laws. God, you can’t make this shit up.”

Adam. _Adam Greyskull. The guy!_ Her level of concentration makes the blood rush in her veins like the pressure is building and they’re about to pop. _What do you mean he’s a “wreck” and what “shit?”_ For a few seconds, Catra thinks he’s going to keep going, but he stops and listens to his wife again. _Ughh explain_ _, ¡pe_ _ndejo!_

Her tail straightens and bushes up when the woman on the other end begins to yell and he cuts her off with his own yelling. “Stop! Just stop. Don’t you _dare_ compare this to that. Adam has always covered for my ass and _God forbid_ something traumatic like finally tracking down his long-lost sister and the death of his _family_ comes up and he’s too much of a mess to handle things on his own! He doesn’t have anyone else, and neither did she! Adam’s planning and paying for the funeral _on his own_. He has no one else to rely on! So forgive me for being a let-down. I really am sorry but I thought you had enough empathy to realize he needed me more right now.”

Catra doesn’t hear him end the call, nor does she hear him drive off; she just hears his words playing on loop.

_Sister._

_Death of his family._

_Funeral._

_Funeral._

_Funeral._

Did that mean…?

Catra cautiously opens her bag to find the painkillers, swallowing three in one gulp. When she puts the bottle back in, she sees the notebook open to the directions. She sees the streets that will lead her to the railway and she goes completely numb, brain on autopilot as she throws her stuff over her shoulders and heads that way.

Everything is blurry; nothing comes into focus. She notices the streaks of movements--tail lights, bicycles, the shine of the setting sun glowing over metal. She notices the street signs and stops at each one to see if it’s the one she’s looking for, just stop, look up, yes or no, and move. The process repeats until she’s looking across the railyard from the outside. The painkillers are just now starting to trickle into her system, and the realization makes her move because soon she won’t be able to. 

Walk the fence. No one’s looking, go under. Step through the shadows. No one around, move forward. Sound of pressurized air releasing. A train’s going to take off soon, but where. _There_ . Look around again, no one. Sneak through the shadow of the train. Look for a well car with a bottom. Suicide car, suicide car, suicide car, well car. Jump in, try the container. Locked. Look at the sky. Cloudy. Train hasn’t moved, go find a container that will open. Locked, locked, locked, the train is inching forward fuck hurry locked, suicide car, sprinkling, locked, light jog, no time, fucking _pick one!_

Catra throws herself up a ladder into a well but doesn’t have the energy to stand up and check to see if she can get inside the container--the pills have kicked in and so has the grief, so she sinks awkwardly onto her knees, guitar and bag still strapped to her, and loses all control and feeling of her body as the rain washes away her sobs. 

…

“You mean she just...got on a train and left?”

Glimmer nods. “Yeah, she thought it was you…”

Adora rubs her face, drawing her nails up to her forehead and dragging them down roughly. “Aunt Marlene…but she...so Catra. Where did she go?”

Bow rubs soothing circles on her back but Adora can hardly feel them under her depression. “Anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down and looking at one or two more of Catra flashback before we get to the concert. If you want to read more of Catra's fleshed out journey, look out for the prequel that I'll get to when I get to it--likely sometime after catradora reunite so I can get that off my chest :)
> 
> Oh! And some of you have asked for a spotify playlist. My spotify is connected to my facebook so I'd rather not put that out there, BUT I'm working on a youtube playlist (well more than one--one for each album and then a master) with videos that're either posted by the record label or have been on the site for 20 years, so less likely to poof. 
> 
> Here's the link to their first album! https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAfRV9zJ3-anqTGUn8aG33fZ
> 
> All the versions included are how they'd perform the song unless I make lyric changes, which would be included in the actual text here. If the link sucks or something post in the comments and I'll try and fix it. Thanks again for stopping by :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glimmer and Bow finish catching Adora up on what they know.
> 
> TRIGGERS!!!
> 
> Take care of yourselves, dears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayooo,
> 
> Sorry for the longer wait--I decided to finish this all in one instead of two so it took a bit longer for me to write and edit. Trust me--editing with the same eyes that wrote what you just put down just doesn't work, so it takes me some time and a fresh perspective to fix all my junk hehe. 
> 
> Here's the link for the second album: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAcL5ptyIwJ7ayqWEL554rpP
> 
> FYI: in the first song, Catra singing is aligned left while Lonnie is aligned right. The other song mentioned near the end is a Horde original that's actually the cover done by Our Last Night if you're wanting to listen to it :) Don't want to give it away but you'll know the name once you get there.

The skin of Adora’s legs feel swollen and raw as she thrums her fingers on top of her knees. She’d brought her knees to her chest and has been dragging her nails down the skin for the past several minutes. She just had to do something. Her mind refuses to let her get up, get a drink of water or something, so she sits squished between her friends with a mind screaming a hundred different thoughts at once. 

Adora only stops torturing her legs when Swift Wind moves to lick her hands.  _ Don’t do that _ , he seems to say. She stops to appease him but doesn’t run her nails over his fur instead; she wants the sensation, wants the touch on her body to help ground her, remind her she’s here and in one piece.

“So,” she unsheathes her teeth from her bottom lip and crimson meets the air, copper spilling into her mouth. “Where’s ‘anywhere?’”

“Well,” Bow starts and Glimmer continues. “She went a lot of places. From what I recall, her interviews said she didn’t stay anywhere for long. She traveled North America pretty hardcore.”

“Yeah,” Bow agrees.” “Coast to coast, major cities, small towns. She snuck out of the country too. Canada and Mexico.”

Adora hums in response, still trying to digest. “How long?”

“Something like 8 months? Not quite a full year. She was playing guitar for money. Got pretty popular on YouTube.”

Glimmer shifts in her seat, tapping on her phone. “The others saw a video,” and she slides the device into Adora’s hands.

  
  


**Rogelio Batería**

If anyone sees her, PLEASE show her this message

Catra, we miss you. We need you to come home. Kyle’s hurt. We love you and we need you here. 

> v View 217 replies

  
  


“He posted this on several vids. There was even a campaign on Twitter to get people to look for her.”

“Wasn’t there a hashtag?”

Glimmer turns to Bow animatedly. “Yes! There  _ totally  _ was and it worked. Catra saw the message and went home!”

Adora’s brows furrow as she keeps her gaze on Rogelio’s message. “Wait, wait, back up. Kyle got hurt?”

Glimmer and Bow had started looking lighter, like they were pleased with themselves at having remembered these details, but they shrunk back, taking a moment. After a few seconds, they looked at each other. Bow took a breath. “Yeah. Correct me if I’m wrong but Catra got most of the abuse at the home, right?”

Adora’s eyebrows are practically touching now. “Yeah. None of us besides her faced it on a regular basis.”

Bow gulps. “But with Catra gone--”

And like that Adora’s face is wiped clean. “Oh my god.” She shakes her head, feeling anxiety building up in her forearms as she tenses before wildly gesticulating. “So she just, what, went back so she could be their--” She stops breathing for a few seconds, clenching her fists and letting the pressure build up in her head while she searches for the right words “--shield? Abuse-sponge?” At that, Adora slams her fists onto the coffee table. 

Her friends jump before hesitantly reaching out. Bow takes her hands in his, forcing them open for another time that night. Glimmer rubs her back in soft circles, whispering words of encouragement to get her to focus on leveling her breathing. 

When Adora has calmed again, Glimmer speaks. “Kinda, but just for one more time.”

_ Glimmer has no right to be cryptic right now _ . She’s about to yell that aloud when Glimmer starts typing on her phone, pulling up an article. Adora chooses to watch her scroll for a bit while she looks for something.

“I don’t know how this works with the case Adam was working on about Weaver and Primus, but I’ll bet this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.” Glimmer drags her thumb upward across the screen and everything within Adora dies when she sees the picture beside the text.

…..

Catra is buzzing as she looks at her shitty shack of a home from across the street. 

The midday sun is shining brightly overhead, revealing every peeling paint chip, crack in wood, and weed creeping up the side of the house. It’s a disgusting place. Not really by Detroit standards, but definitely for foster home standards, even  _ in _ Detroit. It’s the perfect place to send unwanted brats to get lead poisoning, she figures.

She’s not eager to step back inside, especially not with the logistics of her plan scrolling through her mind.

Catra came alone. She had to if she was going to catch Weaver off-guard the way she wanted to. It had to be her and Catra--no distractions. 

_ No distractions _ .

She’s flicking a pill around in her mouth with her tongue as she scales the tree outside the bedroom she shares with Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio. When she’s parallel to the window, she’s glad to see them within--they’ll let her in.

_ Just you and me, bruja _ .

She only has to throw two rocks for Lonnie to notice and scramble over to open it. Catra swallows the pill and jumps from the branch to the window. Her aim is a little off and she only gets her torso through the opening, but Lonnie and the claws on her feet help her scramble up the side.

“Catra!” They’re swarming her in an instant, wrapping her in-between their bodies. She can hear Rogelio’s pleasant, low growl she swears is a purr, the way Lonnie curses at her without any bite, and Kyle’s feeble whimpers.

Despite the heaviness, Catra feelings a spark in her heart. She loves them. And  _ Dioses _ , how is she just now realizing just how much she missed them? Her insides are ripping apart out of guilt. It’s cracking her ribcage open with how much her heart beats to get out and reach them, offering them a safe place to hide. 

_ They won’t need it much longer _ .

She breaks them apart, searches for Kyle, and when she sees him, she wraps him up in her arms gently.

“I’m going to rip her fucking throat out.”

“Please don’t. That’s a lot of blood,” he whispers back. “It would be a lot to clean up.” 

She snorts without humor. “What did she do to you?”

He’s got a cast on his left arm, which rests in a sling that’s brought closely to his chest. Kyle’s also wearing a weird brace that loops under his armpits. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable but it surely has a job. His loose t-shirt reveals bruises along the collar. They match the yellowing purple along his cheekbone, which has a vertical bandage running across it.

“I broke a glass.”

He looks like shit, and the dark circles under his eyes only further prove the point, but his hopeful brown eyes contrast it all in a much more pleasant way. Catra would have to be blind not to see the tears that glisten or the way they refuse to break contact, conveying just how much he’s glad she’s there.

“You look like a  _ plátano magullado. _ ” But of course she’s too emotionally constipated to say anything sweet or soothing. 

Rogelio snorts, and Lonnie and Kyle laugh despite not knowing what she said, just happy to have her saying dumb shit at the wrong time again.

_ They probably know banana, at least.  _

Catra takes a moment to lightly tap Rogelio with her fist, eyes downcast as she signs  _ “thanks for the message. I--” _ she fumbles for a moment, difficulty finding the words.  _ “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”  _ She doesn’t try to hide her sniffle as she continues.  _ “I’m sorry I left. I just didn’t believe Weaver was telling the truth. Adora--”  _ a tear trickles out.  _ “I just loved her so much and I couldn’t--”  _ she’s given up trying to sign, and they hug her again as she cries.

Lonnie’s voice is soft in a way usually  _ not _ reserved for Catra. “It’s okay. We understand.”

Rogelio has his head on hers, the deep vibrations of his purr mixing with hers. Kyle speaks in her other ear. “I don’t think we loved her the same way you did,” and Catra might’ve blushed if he said that to her a year ago, but now it just makes her somber, “but we loved her too. I wished I could’ve been there for you. To help. I wish I could’ve helped.”

Catra tries not to get her snot is his moppy hair as she continues to cry with the family she never should’ve left behind. 

…..

It’s been maybe an hour. After crying, Catra couldn’t move, just so heavy with grief and love and everything. She doesn’t even move when the others grab washrags and start to clean her fur. Doesn’t hiss or push them away when they comb through her messy hair. She just sits there and lets them take care of her for a bit. She’s grateful. They’re so gentle and careful and even though her scalp smarts and there's some suds that weren’t washed off on her arm, it’s lovely. 

She just finished using the bathroom, changing into an old pair of her jeans that fit a little looser and one of Adora’s tees. Catra’s looking in the mirror, taking in her haggard (though a little less so) appearance. She’s almost skin and bone, lack of sleep and lack of food apparent in every feature. Her coat is rough and dry, her eyes are sunken, her hair is coarse. It’s not good, but maybe she can start a decent care routine now that she’s back.

Her face steels and she lifts her chin, forcing her shoulders back into a more confident position.

_ Business first, though _ .

All three of her friends turn toward the doorway when she re-enters, and inwardly she sketches their heartening smiles so she can pull them out later.

“You still have that old iPod, right?”

Lonnie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, why?”

“Does the camera work?”

…..

As expected, they hate her plan, but it’s all they have. They need out of there  _ now _ and emancipation would take too long and without any guarantees. The best way to get their “now” was to bait the  _ puta _ , and Catra’s surprise return is all they need to hook her; they just have to reel her in. So Lonnie’s got the iPod in hand hiding around the corner, ready to sneak to a more ideal spot once Weaver is distracted. Kyle has his watch, ten minutes counting down. He’s waiting in the bushes outside the house of the old lady who gives them snacks during the summer and on the weekends when they’re home.  _ She’ll answer the door. She’ll call. _ Rogelio is on standby so he can jump in if needed, wearing the used goalie chest and arm protectors they got from Grizzlor when the lizard hybrid expressed interest in hockey. Hordak’s probably fuming inside his car, speeding over from Ann Arbor, furious at them for doing what they’re about to do despite knowing that they need something irrefutable to get them away from Weaver. Primus’s influence has covered everything up until now, so it’s time to go big or--stay home? They at least had the sense to remove the knives from the kitchen, so he can’t call them complete idiots.

Catra’s sitting on the counter, eating one of Weaver’s off-limits weight-loss bars when the hag walks into the room. She freezes, taking her time to stare at the Magicat to make sure she’s really there and gather her bearings.

Catra forces a smirk despite her nerves. “Hola,  _ Madre _ . Long time no see.”

Weaver’s face is stone but her eyes are all surprise and fury. Carefully, she moves, setting her bag on the table before greeting her. “Catra. What a pleasure to see you,” she grimaces, “back home. To what do I owe this honor?”

Catra makes a show of popping the rest of the bar in her mouth before crinkling the wrapper, dropping it to the floor. Weaver’s eye twitches. “Perhaps it’s your lucky day?”

“Oh joy.”

“You know, I’ve never really had the opportunity to describe how ugly you are to your face. It’s been at the top of my bucket list for  _ years. _ ”

Weaver scoffs. “Please, what is your game? You’ve come home just to try and push my buttons?”

Already suspicious. Catra figured she might be but she accounted for that. She knows she needs to dig deeper to be believable and she knows just what, or  _ who,  _ gets to both of them. Catra drops the smirk and lets herself be angry, channeling her pain so it can speak for her. “No. I want you to admit you killed Adora.”

Catra has never heard Weaver laugh. It sounds dusty, like the cobwebs are lifting from an unused machine after years of rusting. She imagines this is the sound a monster makes before it eats the young, naive dumbass running through the woods in a horror flick. The sound the teeth of a great white make as they snap around an unsuspecting seal. The sound gunpowder makes as it blazes toward a keg of explosives. It’s the hook through the mouth of a fish, and it’s Catra’s job to reel it in. “You’re delusional.”

“No--you are for thinking that I wouldn’t see everything you did. You  _ destroyed _ her. You took a young, promising girl and broke her.”

“I  _ made  _ her!”

“No!” Catra’s snarling. “You didn’t see a child; you saw a cash cow. Someone to bend to your will and do what you want. For what purpose? Dreams of grandeur? Power? Or was it some sick perversion?”

“How  _ dare _ you! Your insolence has always gotten in your way, and now here you are speaking  _ lies _ with confidence as if you know  _ anything! _ ”

“I know  _ everything _ ! I know how you isolated Adora from others so she would come crawling to you. How you trained her that perfection was the only acceptable outcome and completely broke her down into neurosis. How you manipulated her into giving up the things she loved so you could shape her into being who  _ you _ wanted her to be.”

“I was molding her into something great--something you couldn’t possibly understand!” Despite not being a hybrid, the woman still manages to snarl back and show her own teeth. Her eyes burn like flames and the scars on her face stretch into gnarly shapes, like the look of shadows in the light of a foul beast stalking toward its prey. Weaver slams her hand down onto the table, taking three steps toward Catra’s spot on the counter. “You are edging a very thin line, Catra, and you are not prepared to catch yourself when you fall.” 

Catra rolls her eyes, sweat soaking through the fur on the back of her neck. “Always so  _ vague _ . You speak in fucking hieroglyphics, you know that?” 

Catra gulps. She’s got to poke the beast again and she thinks she knows what’ll send her over the edge. No, it  _ will _ , and that guarantees what she’s been trying to goad all along. Despite that, her nerves are everywhere. It takes every bit of her control to prevent shaking. She’s had a pill in her hand, waiting for this moment, and she pops it into her mouth.  _ Hopefully it won’t hurt as bad with this running through my system. _ She waits a few moments for it to make its way down her throat before facing Weaver again.

“Is it because you can’t be honest with yourself? Can’t be honest about what you did? You manipulated her, you abused her, you  _ ruined _ her. You  _ failed! _ And your beloved  _ pet  _ couldn’t stand to be near you any longer so she fucking killed herself to  _ escape you! _ ”

Catra expects the hand that hits her, knocking her off the counter and onto the floor. She catches herself, preventing her head from smacking the wood, and is about to mock the  _ bruja _ when she looks up and time slows.

They removed the knives--an obvious hazard for a raging beast--but they didn’t think to remove anything else from the kitchen. So it’s with wide eyes that Catra watches as Weaver lifts her hand to the hanging pot rack above the counter, grabbing onto a saucepan, and bringing it across her temple with a dull  _ crack _ .

The crack echoes as her head bounces off the floor and the air leaves her lungs. Weaver doesn’t stop there; repeatedly, she brings the pot up and down across Catra’s body, hitting her form without discrimination. The wooden floor has always been creaky, easily giving away any midnight-snackers or teens trying to sneak out. It’s always been a faithful alarm for Weaver, but now it acts as a warning siren for Catra.

Maybe that’s just the blue and red lights outside of the house though. She’s not sure; she’s been underwater since the first hit, drowning in a small pool of red.  _ Sink or swim _ crosses her mind, but she never learned how to swim, so she lays there as blood washes over her body and bruises bite her skin, descending past the layers to break the bone that resides underneath. 

She sees clawed, green feet scrambling across the floor as Rogelio tries to drag the woman off of her. The padding swallows the hits of the pan, protecting him, but Weaver keeps pushing him back--and endless cycle of  _ push _ ,  _ hit _ ,  _ push _ ,  _ hit _ as she uses the time it takes Rogelio to rush back to grapple with her to keep hitting Catra. Catra’s grateful that he keeps trying; it’s very brave of him with the woman in this state--Catra’s broken form is proof of that. 

From the floor, her eyes scan the room. She sees Lonnie in the living room and, as promised, the flash of the iPod is pointed toward the chaos. She can see Lonnie struggling to keep herself rooted--all scowling and gritted teeth; the girl obviously wants to help, but she already is.  _ Get the evidence. Let it happen. _ Catra’s glad it’s her and Rogelio here and not Kyle; he’d only get himself further hurt. Though he’s  _ such _ a crybaby, he probably has the least self-control, second only to Catra, of the group. It’s a good thing he’s not here. 

_ Just let it happen. _

Boots clog her vision, a new  _ thumping  _ working in percussive tandem with the  _ thwacks _ of the pot-on-body. It gives the weightlessness she feels some tempo, and she’s glad. It brings a sense of time back to her and she counts the seconds, knowing that this is finally coming to an end.

_ Let it happen. _

…..

  
  


**_Hot News: A Rock-Star’s Tragic Past!_ **

_ Read here to learn more about The Horde’s  _

_ time growing up in foster care and how their _

_ vocalist Catra got her family out of a cycle  _

_ of abuse _

By: Swen Peekablue January 14th, 2018

  
  


The article lists that day as being June 22nd, 2013. Where was Adora on that day? Probably playing soccer at the YMCA or training for the next season. Maybe a movie? Maybe she was taking a nap or traveling with Adam, not knowing that she was needed elsewhere. 

She’s been thinking about this for awhile now--five minutes? Twenty minutes? She’s not sure; she’s not good at keeping track of time. Adora does know that she threw up twice. When she finished reading after having stared at one of the attached photos too long, she bolted to the bathroom and has had her cheek resting on the toilet seat since.

Her friends came in a little while ago. Glimmer raked back her loose hairs, redoing her ponytail to keep the strands together. Bow wet down a cloth and wiped the sweat and bile from her face. They were such good people, guiding her through the worst information she’s ever had to learn, being honest with the truth and comforting when it was particularly hard. She’s grateful; she doesn’t know how she would’ve handled this alone. 

It takes a few gulps of water from the glass Glimmer filled before she can speak again. “How did they get this info? I doubt they would’ve talked freely about this.” Adora grimaces. “And this picture of Catra in the hospital? The only reason to take a picture like this is to show a fucking  _ jury _ .” Adora tries not to think about the barely recognizable form of her friend, pieced together with casts and bandages and covered in red-stained fur, purple skin underneath instead of tan.

“Yeah,” Bow agrees. “The magazine got  _ a lot _ of backlash after that. Your friends weren’t the only ones upset-- _ thousands _ of people, fans or not, were too. It was really messed up to dig around like that and release such...sensitive stuff. They actually went bankrupt because of it.”

_ Fuck, this is the worst day of my fucking life _ . Adora gags again but doesn’t quite throw up. She’s angry, pained, disgusted, and so,  _ so _ guilty. She has to remind herself again that this wasn’t her fault and that her friends are happy now. How is beyond her, but it makes her heart pang with respect at how courageous and resilient they are. They’re her  _ heroes _ , and she desperately wants to tell them as much. 

“This is all?” Adora forces herself to leave off the  _ please tell me _ . 

The silence tells her not quite.

“There’s one more thing,” Glimmer admits before sighing. “And it’s worse.”

Adora takes a moment to breathe before lifting her head from the porcelain throne.

_ If they can go through all of this and come out on the other side, I can buck up and listen to it.  _ They’re almost done--it’s the final stretch, the final piece of missing info Adora needs. Fuck her, this all sucks, but in another day she’s going to see them bright, happy, and  _ alive  _ doing what they love. This is just background information she’s not supposed to dwell on. She needs to accept it happened and move forward. 

_ Just one more thing _ .

“What is it?”

Adora watches her friend sink into herself, looking green and despondent. Bow is looking out the bathroom door with a similarly gloomy face, and she tries not to vomit again in anticipation.

“Five years later, Catra tried to kill herself.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Adora didn’t have anything in her stomach before and now she barely has a stomach. She’s been throwing up what little she has left, dry heaving when nothing else comes up her throat. She’s sobbing, she realizes, too many sensations, thoughts, feelings occurring at once to ground herself. Reality is fuzzy and she’s just being pulled along.

“W-wh--” Adora pants. She blows her nose and uses several tissues. Bow brings a new wet washcloth up toward her face but she takes it from him, choosing to take care of herself instead. “Why?”

Glimmer and Bow look at each other, communicating with tightly knit brows and open, surprised, mouths. “Honey, I think you should just--”

“No!” She punches the tile and her knuckles immediately start smarting. “Tell me why right now.”

When Adora continues to sob, Bow produces more tissues. “She’s never said.”

“Why not?!” She snaps. It’s an unreasonable question, she knows; that’s private information. But for someone who’s never stopped loving her, her desire to know is consuming her heart. It just makes her cry harder.

Glimmer’s voice is barely above a whisper as she gently speaks. “I think you know why, hun.”

She blubbers, falling onto Bow’s shoulder. “How do you know about it?”

“Interviews, Tumblr, Reddit. She’s talked about the  _ fact _ ,” she emphasizes, “to raise awareness. Catra isn’t really shy about that. The band has been really outspoken in that community since her recovery. You know the suicide hotline song by that rapper?”

Adora nods.

“That’s actually a  _ cover _ . They wrote the original. Then they founded that charity of theirs. Well, added another side to their charity for foster kids, made it for fostered  _ and  _ suicidal youth. A while ago, I saw their manager Scorpia talking about it, gushing about how Catra single-handedly led the charge to set up the funds, resources, and outreach. She went on talk-shows, organized benefit concerts with a bunch of other bands, worked with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention and SAMHSA--”

Adora interrupts, making Glimmer back up. “But her attempt…?”

Glimmer deflates. She was obviously trying to focus on the good that came after instead of what happened. “It happened at the end of recording their second album. Earlier that day, they recorded what was their last track, ‘Man of the Year.’ Um--” she opens Spotify on her phone but puts the device back down. “It’s--uh--it’s a heavy listen. She’s never openly stated it, but I always got the feeling like it was her way of leaving an, uh...leaving a note? The lyrics and the way she sings…Lonnie does the unclean vocals and the instrumental part is very harsh and loud in a way that’s just  _ chaotic _ . They released a video earlier last year. The band is usually in them, but Catra refused to star. It’s like the only one without them in it.”

She exits Spotify, bringing up Youtube to play the music video with subtitles on. “Catra said once that her thoughts were overwhelming at the time. She just heard so many voices in her head telling her things. We don’t really know any details but we  _ do  _ have this.” She plays the video.

_ Eyes down don't you gaze on others _

_ Pay no mind to hopeful lovers _

_ Promise to be faithful when you go, go, go, go _

_ Don't be alarmed to discover _

_ Siren songs can pull you under _

_ Promise to be faithful when you go, go, go, go _

A Magicat girl walks down the sidewalk, hands shoved into her pockets and hood up as she quickly makes her way down the bustling street. For the most part, no one pays attention to her. A few people knock into her, but she gathers her bearings and keeps moving forward. 

The sun is hidden behind clouds, leaving only grey light to cast across the city. Smoke rises from the cigarette at her lips, creating a tiny cloud above her head. It trails behind her as she hurries along, dragged this way and that. Others are smoking around her with their own smoke clouds mingling above their heads, but they stay separate, even seem to dissipate, unlike hers as she turns off into an alley.

_ On the seas of mass temptation _

_ Keep your course of moderation _

_ Promise to be faithful when you go, go, go, go _

The exchange is quick--a wadded handful of bills and a smaller pill bottle. Once it’s done, the girl rushes out of the alleyway, jogging down several streets before pulling it out of her pocket and shaking a few into her hand. 

_ And if you prove a lying coward _

_ Feel the wrath of higher powers _

_ Promise to be faithful when you go, go, go, go _

_ Go, go, go, go, go _

The round, green pills seem to slow time in her hand and go from a dull hue to something fluorescent and sick as the tension of the song increases, building for the upcoming transition.

_ Fade, writhe, crash, peel _

_ I'm feeling it, the feel of it, the wheel can turn, the wick is lit _

_ I feel like something before I feel like nothing _

_ Crawling through the clouds that morph into mouths _

_ Agree to be swallowed, ignore being hollowed out _

_ Facilitate the power trip, I like to watch you deal with it _

_ Savor every little bit of knowledge you obtain _

Lonnie starts with unclean vocals, going back and forth with Catra. In the video, the argument plays out with the smoke cloud connected to the Magicat. The girl is running, frantic eyes and stumbling feet as she tries to get away, but the cigarette is still in her mouth. The smoke has shifted in form, taking the silhouette of a person that mouths the lyrics Lonnie sings while the girl mouths Catra. The silhouette shifts forms to people Adora doesn’t recognize, but they’re distinct in a way that says they’re not just placeholders--they’re the forms of certain people.

In the next verse, the silhouette shifts into one that’s familiar-- _ Weaver _ \--and the girl looks downright  _ tortured _ . She argues back and forth with the smoke but it doesn’t even allow her to finish her sentences, constantly interrupting her. She tries to swipe with her claws at the cloud but her fingers pass through it, and despite her bared teeth, the fury does nothing to cover the fear in her eyes as she tries to run away.

_ Don't you hurt me again _

_ Pride, feed me pride I'm fiending _

_ My mind and my body won't be able to take the pain  _

_ (You can never ever miss this hit _

_ You can barely even write this shit!) _

_ I'd rather you were dead _

_ (More, give it more conejo) _

_Than lying / cheating / draining my patience away_

_ (Feed it pieces, make it sleepy) _

As the next verse passes, Adora takes in the form of a shadowy, pony-tailed figure, and in the mayhem, it doesn’t hit her who it is at first.

_ Eyes down, don't you gaze on others _

_ Pay no mind to vicious lovers _

_ (I think you're perfect, I'm worth it, yeah, I deserve to be a servant) _

_ When you go, go, go, go _

_ Act so blind to rediscover _

_ Siren songs can pull you under _

_ (I think you're perfect, I'm worth it, yeah, I deserve to be a servant) _

_ When you go, go, go, go! _

It’s her. The shadow is  _ Adora _ , and she feels a tear slide down her face.

_ Say I’m worth it--I’m your person _

_ So well-versed in--I’ll immerse in you _

The vocals are gone, and the music is  _ chaos _ \--the drums driving everything forward, the guitars seemingly fighting against each other, almost speaking gibberish instead of harmony--it’s all very grating, but the emotion imbued in the vocal melody makes her  _ want _ to keep listening, wait for it to come back and bring unity to the turmoil. It’s all very intense and confusing but it has this unusual cohesion found in the depth of what Catra is feeling here, and all of this feels like Catra’s despair; even with so much happening at once, the source  _ bleeds _ individual and  _ overwhelming _ . None of this makes sense, and the song has more layers, more  _ meaning _ because of that.

And Adora’s heart is shattering like a dropped vase--one impact, but hundreds of tiny fractures. 

When the madness hits the breaks and halts, something softer comes in, but the turmoil isn’t gone--it’s hiding under the surface and the pressure is building. Catra sings a pleasant melody again that lacks its previous edge, but there’s something different, something hollow, almost  _ desolate _ in how the lyrics flow from her. 

The cigarette has been tossed into a body of water, which the girl stands at. Waves caress her feet and the tide slowly washes over her, drawing her in. 

_ Filled with regret, alone in the end _

_ Barely a man, I ran from every decision _

_ Not about to justify, don't sympathize with my meltdown _

_ Not about to justify, don't sympathize with my meltdown _

_ I don't need a friend I'd rather keep it all to myself now _

_ 'Cause it's hard enough to follow up the fees of my self-doubt _

_ I had it all in the palm of my hand _

_ Don't have the time to start over again _

_ I had it all in the palm of my hand _

_ Ran out of time, now it's over again _

And the Magicat keeps walking, fighting the buoyancy of her lungs until the pressure bursts, releasing Catra’s agony as the girl chokes on the water, sinking to the riverbed as she screams the last line. 

Above, the cigarette has sunken with her. A camera angle watches this happen from behind the Magicat while Catra fades to the chorus in the background, barely standing out in the harmonic blend as Lonnie’s lyrics take focus. Now, several people are mouthing the lyrics as they reflect in the moonlight on the surface. Adora doesn’t recognize everyone, but she sees Kyle, Rogelio, Lonnie, a few others and in the middle, the girl with the ponytail. She doesn’t mouth the lyrics like the others. Rather, she extends her hand and while the Magicat drowns, pills spilling from the bottle in her pocket, forming a chain that tethers her below, she reaches outward, trying to take her hand.

_ Dive through the heart of a demon _

_ (Oh-oh-oh, again) _

_ Shine a light on my kingdom portrait _

_ (Oh-oh-oh, again) _

_ Fly straight over the pieces of you _

_ Suck sludge straight through the straw, I need you  _

_ (Again) _

_ Fade, fade  _

_ (Again) _

_ Fade, fade, fade into the grave _

The drums and guitars are seemingly in their own tragic battles, trying so hard to be  _ heard _ . They’ve been unleashed, unrestrained in what they’re doing, paying no mind to the pleading lyrics, the bleeding guitar solo, or the receding vocalist. Everything is pure anarchy as the camera floats to the surface of the water, ending its focus on the moon. 

And it’s beautiful--a starry sky, a half moon. The music has faded, leaving the hushed sounds of moving water and nighttime. Adora thinks it’s been a few minutes that the video has continued but she’s enjoyed this shot of the natural world. It’s calming after such an emotional ordeal. She tries to match her breathing to the pace of a frog’s nearby croak, letting herself just be for a bit as she processes. 

When the video officially ends, Glimmer takes the phone back and hits cancel before autoplay can bring up something else.

“That was…” Adora pauses. She knows the words she wants to use but she decides to stop and give herself another moment before they continue forward. She thinks she needs that. “Intense doesn’t quite describe that.”

Bow nods his agreement. “It’s really hard to sit and listen to knowing...y’know.”

Adora hums, letting that act as her response so she can let some more time pass again. 

“So, that’s basically what we know. Some catch-up, huh?” Glimmer’s laugh is without humor and it’s met with silence. “It’s obviously not  _ everything _ , but she’s the only one who can give you a proper run-down of her life. But, like, now you know some things?” She pauses again before continuing to ramble. “Unless there’s something we missed and I mean, I  _ doubt _ it; I’m like their biggest fan so I know everything a fan can reasonably know but--”

Adora sighs, interrupting her friend before she can go on longer. “Glimmer--thanks. You too Bow. It’s a lot, but I feel less--” there isn’t really a word for how she felt at the beginning of all this, so she just makes a shaky, explosive animation with her hands.

Her mouth tastes like shit, her stomach feels like shit, and her head throbs like shit; it’s all shit, really. She wants to brush her teeth, scream at the top of her lungs, and take a nap all at once. Adora looks up, and the clock ticking on the wall reads 11:26pm. It’s late but not too late that she’s going to be fucked for sleep if she doesn’t knock out immediately. She wants some time to just  _ think _ before letting her unconscious mind do its thing so she’s grateful that time is on her side. 

“I think I need a while to process so I’m going to turn in early. Do you mind taking care of Swifty?”

Bow and Glimmer smile at her as they nod.  _ More to be thankful for _ . 

Adora brushes her teeth before she changes into sleepwear. Rather than slide into bed, she sits at the edge, gripping the mattress as her head pounds. She groans and feels the sound echo throughout her tense body. She doesn’t want to think about everything like this, all-- _ I dunno, anxious, restless, strung-out _ , but relaxing isn’t an easy matter right now. 

_ Catra’s been through so much... _ and the specifics feel like individual bullets in her heart.  _ She tried to kill herself? _ What Adora wouldn’t give to have been there for her during that time, shouldering her burdens and helping her realize her place on this Earth.

Not that Catra would’ve let her. Adora always had the bad habit of trying to do everything for her and Catra has said multiple times how it made her feel  _ weak _ ,  _ incapable _ \--things Weaver tried to convince her she was. She sighs, coming up empty for ideas of how she could help without being insensitive. Would she have even recognized that something was wrong? Seen the signs? Adora really doesn’t know. She’d always been there for Catra when she needed her, and when they were younger, Catra did come to her--quiet company, silent hugs, reason-less cuddles when she crawled up from the foot of the bed and Adora wrapped her arms around her while she cried.  _ I guess I just understood what she needed--and maybe the others didn’t _ . 

Her throat’s dry again and she swallows a gulp of water.  _ But they were there, and I was not _ .

When she realizes the gulp leaves her near empty, she gets up and fills the glass again. She pauses at the desk by the bathroom door that has her earbuds sprawled on top of the otherwise neat surface. Adora grabs them and the dongle and plugs it into her phone before bringing up Google.

_ Original suicide hotline song. _

She scrolls through Youtube--she wants to see  _ Catra _ , not lyrics floating across the screen, and finds a video, titled “ 1-800-273-8255 Official Video (Fan Made by hordecadet2020 and Force Captain Flutterina!!!)

_ Huh. That’s cool. _ She’s never heard of a music video made by fans and accepted as the official video by the band before. Adora can almost see Catra blush, trying to pawn it off as “free labor” when she knows the girl and the others were touched by it. Without a doubt, it touches them--Adora is sure of that, and it makes her smile. 

And how can it not?

She’s more focused on the video than the actual song, though she admits she likes the Horde’s version the best. Fuck, they have some incredible fans to have put the time into compiling  _ this _ \--Adora can hardly imagine how many hours, days, even weeks it took to put it all together: video splices of Catra speaking at different fundraisers, walking hand-in-hand with a crying child at an Out of the Darkness Walk, gently running her thumb over the arm of a fan in a tour shirt with cuts on his skin while she says something soft, eyes and face kind. It’s absolutely flooring seeing her act with so much passion and not an ounce of sarcasm, her favorite safety blanket. It makes Adora cry to see her so genuine, so warming to those around her, and everyone is caught by her--people she’s directly interacting with, onlookers, even those at the backs of rooms. They’re so  _ receptive _ and  _ thankful _ and Adora couldn’t ask for a greater gift to be returned for Catra’s kindness.

And there’s definitely a lot of it. Catra’s kindness is never ending as the video continues on. Yet, she never looks at the camera. Adora finds it odd, but it’s charming how focused on the people in front of her that she is. It’s almost like--her heart beats faster, swelling.  _ It’s almost like she doesn’t know she’s being recorded, because she’s not out here for that--likes, shares, and the fame that comes with it; Catra’s there because she wants to be.  _ So Adora believes her every intention when the singer belts “ _ I want you to be alive!”  _ and she can’t help but cry happy tears as she watches the beloved Magicat, even choke a bit when the girl, finally,  _ thankfully _ , utilizes the same honest emotion when she belts for herself--“ _ I finally wanna be alive!”  _

The video splicing stops, choosing to stay in one place with Catra and the Horde in front of a building. They’re almost  _ giddy _ , like they’re kids again as they surround a covered object. Catra’s got the edge of the cloth in her hands and softly under the music, Adora can hear the crowd counting down--“3, 2, 1, zero!” and Catra rips the fabric off the sign.  _ It’s a sign _ . Black Garnet Institute for Fostered and Suicidal Youth. There’s cheering and hugging as the outro starts, everything in slow-motion as the band celebrates. 

_ Pain don't hurt the same, I know _

_ The lane I travel feels alone _

_ But I'm moving 'til my legs give out _

_ And I see my tears melt in the snow _

_ But I don't wanna cry _

_ I don't wanna cry anymore _

_ I wanna feel alive _

_ I don't even wanna die anymore _

_ Oh I don't wanna _

_ I don't wanna _

_ I don't even wanna die anymore _

Adora laughs softly to herself and she can practically hear Catra in her head saying “ _Dioses_ ” affectionately, rolling her eyes at her as she watches the Magicat on the screen cry with a face-splitting smile--fangs and all out there as she cheers with the crowd, who’ve gotten louder now that the song has ended. Catra’s proud of herself, she realizes, and it’s the cherry on top of such a lovely sundae. 

A lot of things have changed and a lot of things have happened. Adora doesn’t know who she has to thank for the second chance with the girl she’s never stopped loving, now this incredible woman, but she’ll be damned if she spends all her time moping instead of making good on the opportunity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! We've got backstory out of the way! Thank god ugh exposition and shit is practically teeth-pulling but it was a must. Again, more of Catra's backstory will be delved into in a side-series that y'all can look out for after a few more chapters of this are published.
> 
> Thanks for the support! You guys are super great. Now we can get this show on the road hehehe like literally.
> 
> On a more serious note, because it was mentioned in here and it will be mentioned later in the work, I want to touch on it. Suicide is a real thing and I don't doubt that many of you have been touched by it in some way. If you're struggling, please know you're not alone, and it's so easy to use Google to find people to talk to and resources to help. I'm not educated in resources for places outside the US, but American friends, don't be afraid to call the hotline--there's no stigma; they're there to help. They can connect you to local resources if you need it, too, and so can SAMHSA. Non-American friends, there's help available for you, too, and I promise you're brave enough to find it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and co. attend the concert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that I am absolutely laughing my ass off. Like, I was determined to do the concert all in one so the update took forever because of editing and like writing about a two hour concert is apparently A LOT but now I'm done and I've literally ducking DOUBLED the word count of the fic in ONE CHAPTER and sorry but it's 4:27 am and I'm cackling. 
> 
> Anywaysss check out the next chapter for a compilation of their albums, the youtube playlists I've made, and the set list for the concert.
> 
> ALSO you don't really have to listen to every song they play if you don't want to but I still recommend it. They're bops yo. If your patience aint that great, I feel you--there's a reason I didn't write about each song--but I highly recommend listening to the songs that're fully fleshed out in here--especially the Catra and Kyle thing and the last two songs wink wink.

Adora’s been on edge the entire day. Everybody’s noticed it; she’s about as subtle as a  _ rock,  _ like the one she’s been turning over in her hand since she stepped foot out of her apartment. She orders coffee with her roommates-- _ “decaf!” Glimmer butted in _ \--and the barista gawks at her. She’s quietly doing her work, tossing the stone between her hands, and her coworkers are staring (God, she misses  _ twice _ and has to leave her seat to get it and suddenly she’s the Queen of fucking England). She goes to grab a sandwich at the building’s cafeteria, and she’s 8 feet tall in a tiara and has a sword. Adora  _ knows _ she’s being obvious but can’t tell  _ how _ for the life of her, so she’s just continued on in her day, trying to keep it to herself but utterly failing.

The last hour of her shift, she found herself stuck back in the corner behind her desk on the floor, cuddling Swift Wind, listening to the Horde and trying to sit still. She commandeered one of the treadmill desks for four hours that morning, walking briskly--okay, well, no. That’s a lie. She tried that and when she realized she needed to fucking  _ run _ , she switched into the gym clothes she hid in her large desk drawer and  _ sprinted  _ while she looked over her notes until lunch. Glimmer forced her back to her intended location afterwards, claiming there was smoke coming out of the treadmill  _ and _ Adora when she forced her to grab food-- _ “I will literally friggen kill you if you’re a zombie at this concert!” _

After that, she became the bane of her coworkers: she played fetch with Swifty until the ball landed in a box an intern was carrying and he tackled the poor kid; she followed Glimmer around like a puppy until her friend snapped at her; she conversed with all three of the Star siblings until Starla gave her a cookie and told her to relax, and wow the cookie did help a lot, but Adora still felt like she was going to  _ explode _ .

And it was all Bow’s fault.

Adora had been  _ totally _ prepared to have a casual day. Just go through her notes, listen to some music, and watch some videos of old live performances. Peak calm. That is until Bow was putting cream cheese on a bagel and had the  _ audacity _ to catch her off-guard with “today’s the big day! You’re reuniting with Catra!” And he continued to gush about something but fuck she was reuniting with  _ Catra _ . Her long-lost best friend/maybe something more. Her Catra, who was now this absolutely  _ stunning _ woman her friends worshipped and fuck, Glimmer  _ definitely  _ has a crush on her and like, she totally has the right to because she’s her own person and who can blame her because, wow, Catra is so  _ amazing, _ but she was  _ Adora’s  _ Catra and--wait, does she even have the right to mark her territory like a dog? Fuck, that seems so possessive and really uncool. God, now she was guilty. That’s so fucked up! She can’t act like that! Especially not after  _ ten fucking years _ , like damn! They’re 25 now and a fucking  _ decade  _ has passed and--

Swiftwind barks in her face.

Slowly, Adora realizes that she’s slipped from her seated position to the floor, where she’s been thrashing about. She blushes and sits back up, much to Swifty’s delight. 

“You!”

She can’t help but yelp in surprise. “Me!” She automatically responds. “Wait, me? What about me?” She asks while Glimmer hauls her to her feet.

“Hun, I love you, but you’re driving me fucking crazy. There’s only like a half-hour left in your shift anyway. Do me a favor and go home, take a bath, give yourself some extra time to prepare for this evening--meaning clothes and  _ hair, _ Adora; not whatever manic studying you’ve been doing--and watch some of the videos Perfuma made you, alright?”

“But--”

“Ah-ah!” Her friend chides, squeezing her arms slightly too hard as she stares Adora down. “None of that. You’re doing it. All of it, and in that order. Okay?”

Adora laughs nervously and gives a mock-salute. “Sir, yessir!” 

Glimmer doesn’t laugh or smile. She grunts, then turns and walks away. “I mean it, Adora! Bow and I have to stay late to talk with Angela about our project but you  _ better _ be ready at 6 sharp or so help me  _ God _ sometime Swiftwind is getting an Ex-Lax treat in the near future at an uncertain place and time and we are  _ leaving  _ you to handle it on your own!” 

Adora gulps down her laughter. “You got it, Boss.” 

To give her tiny, angry, friend credit, it all did help a  _ bunch _ . The shower washed off the sweat from earlier and the steam relaxed her taut muscles. She had an extra half-hour to pick out her outfit out of the three she put together from the night before. She ended up choosing a collage of all three--her favorite, red canvas jacket with the sword design on the back, the white, slightly cropped turtleneck ( _ “show off the abs!” Glimmer said. “Trust me” and she winked _ ), skinny, grey jeans, and white, high-top vans. She had to admit--this was her favorite outfit, and one she chose in some form often, but a good look is a good look. And watching Perfuma’s meditation videos was actually a great idea. Adora sucked at sitting still, but even trying had an effect, leaving her calm enough to eat a small dinner before Glimmer and Bow called her down to their car. 

Swiftwind seemed bummed that she was leaving without him, but a concert hall is no place for a dog. Being without him gave her a small spike of worry, but she pocketed her anxiety meds and reminded herself that her friends would be there. _You’ll be okay._ _You’ll be okay._ Adora’s bedroom, however? Unlikely with a loose, ditched Swifty to have at. But it’ll be fine, right?

She’s not going to answer that question.

The vehicle jolts and the Kia Soul blares its horn. Or, rather, Glimmer does. “Fucking bitch!”

The other car appears to have cut them off but has poorly turned into the lane, leaving the side of the vehicle facing the front of theirs. The driver rolls down the nearby window, shouting a few muffled things and flips them off. Adora watches as Bow tries to wrestle the girl’s hands away from the window controls. “Glimmer, stop! What if the dude has, like, a gun?!”

Glimmer bites down onto his forearm without mercy, leaving Bow squealing.

“Oh God,” Adora whispers. “It’s had a taste of blood.”

The angry girl rolls down the window and Bow plugs his ears to block out the heightened vulgarity of aggressive-driver-Glimmer. “Get your head out of your cunt and fucking drive, you prick!”

The other driver makes a move to get out, opening his door and taking a step onto the pavement. Bow yowls and sinks into his seat. Glimmer’s reaches into the backseat, blindly grabbing for something to hit him with--ice scraper?--as she practically snarls. Luckily, the guy barely makes it out of his car before other vehicles are honking, cursing him to move since the traffic has unclogged again. He makes a  _ forget it _ waving motion and speeds off.

“You better fucking run you wimpy little ballsack!”

Oh yes, she cringes: ballsack-- _ “vaginas are  _ incredible _ , Adora. They can push friggen melon-sized humans through them. What can a ballsack do? Nothing because they’re  _ weak _. Pussy is sexist; ballsack is more accurate.”  _ Adora sighs in relief when the other car is out of sight and Bow visibly relaxes, too. 

“Glimmer, can we  _ please _ get there without you killing someone?”

She ignores the comment. “God, how is it this busy already? We’re here over an hour early!”

Glimmer’s still grumbling under her breath when she enters the sold-out parking garage she apparently reserved a spot in; she even lets out a few more “fucks” when she parks. Adora hopes she’s going to leave it in the car, but the opening mouth says otherwise. Bow’s obviously had enough, though, and his stern face squashes Glimmer’s dwindling anger.

Several blocks are walked in tense silence as Bow stews in his irritation but as soon as the Thaymor comes into sight, his forehead smooths and a slight smile graces his face. He considerably brightens when they reach the edge of what was once the mansion’s driveway. The gate of the stone and wrought iron fence is opened wide with security at the front, checking tickets and sending people with bags and banned items away. Bow insisted on paper tickets, so it takes them longer to get through but once they are, Adora’s body thrums in excitement.

Up the driveway are several stands, some with food, drinks, and others with merch. Bow grabs their hands and makes a beeline for the merch. One of the stands is for the Dragon’s Daughter, and Sea Hawk is boisterous as he talks up the group who’ll open on The Horde’s tour. They aren’t playing tonight--it’s a solo show--but Mermista and Netossa thought it would be a good way to gain more of a social media following. A small crowd is currently enraptured by Sea Hawk’s theatricalism, so they only wave as they move up a different line. When they reach the front, Bow doesn’t hesitate to ask for three tour shirts.

“It’s on me guys.”

“Bow, you really don’t--”

He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Adora, no; you are  _ not _ leaving without a shirt for the occasion. This is  _ huge _ and you will not leave without mementos!”

Glimmer elbows her jokingly, giggling. “He’s totally right. I suggest you agree to whatever he says or risk some Romantic speech that makes him cry.”

Adora snorts a  _ too late _ as Bow gasps, eyes shimmering. “Is that a  _ crop top _ ?! Scratch that--2 tour shirts, one  _ crop top. _ Oh my god, I don’t even have to cut it myself.” He sniffles when the cloth reaches his hands. “It’s glorious.”

She chuckles when he happily swings the bag over his shoulder and says he’ll hold onto it.

About halfway up, Adora admires the fountain that they actually have going.  _ Must be the first time this year _ . Old, rain-washed stone and wrought iron make the outer edge, forming a perimeter to keep guests out much like the fence. On the inside standing tall and proud is a goat with large horns sticking out. The top set curl backward only slightly, giving the animal more presence while the smaller set curl around its head like a helmet. Instead of having a stone color, the goat is black, having been painted after renovations. The black gives it a stark look, bringing it prominence amongst everything surrounding it. The sun has disappeared so lights within the fountain make it glow golden.

The black and gold is reflected in the building they approach. Old and new parts of the mansion are spliced together, the columns and soaring windows keeping the aged white of the 20’s while the new modern additions have a glossy black and golden trimming.

The inside is much the same, except the old white marble works in tandem with new black marble. Some ornamented features have remained, like the designs on the walls, while other, sleeker fixtures have been added. A golden light reveals everything in front of them, from other people to the swirls in the flooring. 

As they’re walking by, several people in black are handing out bracelets to people, instructing them to put it on and keep it on. Adora obliges--it’s not uncommon. They’ll probably light up like glow sticks at some point. Maybe a little tacky, but it’s a tried and true way to get fans more involved in the show.

Adora chooses to follow Glimmer, who moves like she has a mission toward the stairs. She’d rather be on the floor level and frowns a little but continues anyway. The lighting on the second floor is much more muted and it gives the little table that’s reserved for them at the front, middle edge of the balcony a more intimate feel, despite the others that throng along its edges. It feels less blindingly artificial and more ethereal with no source in sight--just there, painted onto the darkness.

Bow parts from them to get drinks, and Adora takes a few moments to admire the newer renovations: the more open space below, the larger stage, and the chandelier, which now hangs below a multi-sided fixture of stadium screens. The placement of the fixture is perfect--high enough in the enormous room to prevent it from blocking the stage, but low enough that people watching from the balconies can still see them without difficulty. Even the chandelier seems to take a better spot above the open floor, hanging more like a disco ball.  _ A really fancy disco ball. _

“Here we are ladies: amaretto sour for the sparkliest amongst us, a moscow mule for our most adored, and a martini for  _ moi _ , the best boy in a crop top.” 

Adora takes a sip and hums in satisfaction.  _ God the bartenders here are good _ . She considers another before it’s even half gone but pushes the thought away--she’s a lightweight and drunk lightweights technically on the clock are  _ not _ welcome.  _ But _ , she thinks as bees zip around in her stomach,  _ a beer might be a better call _ . 

She’s just set the bottle down when her roommates lean forward toward her over the table. 

“So,” Glimmer starts and Bow continues. “Are you excited?”

Adora laughs. “ _ Obviously _ . But besides what you already know, I’m genuinely pumped to hear them play. I’ve seen a few of their performances and damn; they put on one helluva show.”

Glimmer groans and rolls her eyes. “ _ Right _ . Musically  _ and  _ visually gifted? Fuck, what God did they pray to?”

Bow giggles. “‘ _ Visually _ gifted?’ Oh, most certainly.” He turns to Adora. “You might think you know what you’re in for, but trust me--YouTube doesn’t have anything on in-the-flesh, especially for our Magicat goddess.” He pauses, thinking. “Wait, is that okay? I don’t want to make it weird because she’s your childhood  _ everything _ , so, like, is it okay to worship her, because  _ wow _ , or is it--”

“Bow,” Adora laughs. “It’s okay. And it’s not like you’re wrong.” Her cheeks are definitely  _ not _ warming after saying that.

He exhales air, grinning back at her. “Gosh, you’re going to love this.”

“Yep,” Glimmer agrees. “You’re going to be really bummed if you have to go back to writing about  _ Taylor Swift _ again.”

Bow gasps, hand on chest in comedic offense. “How can you say her name like some sort of curse?”

“Because it is one.”

“Heathen!”

The two squabble for a bit and Adora just watches them, admiring her friends. 

It was some sort of miracle for Glimmer to be her assigned roommate her freshman year at university. It was another miracle that Adora was so easily enveloped in the “best friend squad” and that the squad was still alive and well after so much time. These two, despite their road rage and petty fights, were the best people in her life and she wouldn’t trade them for the world. 

_ But...maybe we can stand to add one more. _

She knows it’s a foolish thought and assumptious at best but it’s not like she can tell her heart  _ no _ , don’t be like that. She wants it. Never thought it was possible but since it is, she’s going to let her heart hope. God knows she’s going to be spending most of her time trying not to put a foot in her mouth. Lonnie and the guys should know that she means well so maybe they’ll be supportive? Again, Adora hopes so because she wants them back in her life, too. 

She exhales quickly, feeling her heart rate pick up and gushy, gooey stuff spilling into her chest. It’s painful; it makes her feel like her organs have sunburn. She’s not used to feeling this so strongly. Bow and Glimmer have given her a constant, more subtle feeling, but Adora has only felt this way on momentous occasions and with  _ them _ \--mostly _ her _ . It makes her skin itch and she scratches in long arcs on her arms. She’s glad the noise covers her incessant foot tapping; if she couldn’t release this  _ somehow _ , she was going to go crazy. 

Adora’s just started to squeeze and unsqueeze her grip on the railing when the light begins to dim.

_ Holy fuck, already? _

Glimmer chuckles and puts a calming hand on her shoulder. “Yes, hun.”  _ Whoops. So that was out loud. _ “Relax--this is going to be fun. Focus on the show and let yourself let go, okay?”

Adora huffs out some air, but nods.  _ She’s right _ . And it doesn’t take long for her thoughts to shut down.

The room goes almost completely black, and everyone immediately starts cheering, despite the nothing that’s happening. 

_ Anticipation _ , she guesses and she feels it too. She feels it with every quick  _ thrum _ of her fingers on the wood. 

Adora doesn’t know how long the nothing stands still, but it goes from that to  _ something _ with two lights--one green, just barely illuminating a drum set but no more, and one pink, revealing a reptilian figure in dark clothing surrounded by keyboards and other electronics. The figure-- _ DT _ \--smirks, lips devious on the screen as the pink covers them while they press something. Softly, an electronic rhythm lifts into the too quiet air, echoing its whispers throughout the ex-ballroom. After several seconds, she can hear the clicks of drumsticks on rims accompany it, and after several more, a voice:

_ Welcome to Mantra _

_ You are currently number 80 in the queue _

_ Please hold _

Everything is electrified as the smooth, auto-tuned voice singsongs and the audience cheers. When the bass drum begins  _ thumping _ , the charge of the room increases. 

_ While you wait, why not consider a light reading or guided meditation?  _

_ Close your eyes and listen carefully  _

_ Imagine you're standing on a beach, water gently lapping at your feet _

_ But now you're sinking  _

_ What were you thinking?  _

_ That's all the time we have this week _

DT gracefully moves their fingers about their area, swirling different sounds in the room as if it were a pot, the keyboards, the spoon, and they, the chef. The green of the drumset has brightened, completely revealing Rogelio, and again, the crowd screams. He’s unfazed as he brings the volume of what he’s doing on the set louder.

Adora almost didn’t see it, but when Rogelio appeared, her bracelet glowed red. Very quick, maybe barely a second, and then gone. She’s actually caught off guard, blinking surprisedly at the quick flash of unified light across the balcony and down below, but her curiosity is piqued, so she makes sure to put her wrist in view.

_ Welcome to Mantra _

_ You are currently number 77 _

_ Please hold _

An orange light flashes on stage, and there’s Kyle, letting loose long chords as everyone cheers.

For a second longer than the previous, the bracelet sparks red again, but instead of turning off, it’s slightly glowing, almost unnoticeable, save for the fact that every person wearing one combines into a soft light, like the dwindling coals of a fire.

_ Here in Mantra, meditation is a big part of our daily living _

_ It's better than sitting around doing nothing _

Individuals holler, agreeing as DT and Rogelio drive things even more intensely. Kyle’s guitar doesn’t work with them; rather, it's calm while they are raging.

_ You are currently number 36 in the queue _

_ Please hold _

When the bracelet starts to pulse, so does the ballroom. Everyone is at mercy to the now  _ visual  _ anticipation, especially as circular lights, almost like rain drops, throughout the room pulse with them on quarter notes. 

_ Not vibrating like you ought to be?  _

_ Need a purpose? _

A purple light flashes on stage, revealing Lonnie, who brings her bass into the fray, adding another layer to the anxiety they’ve created.

Again, the bracelet glows red for a longer time than the last. The color, previously deep, almost maroon, has taken a brighter core.

_ Tired of surfing through existential misery?  _

_ Join Mantra today  _

The pulse is now by the eighth note, and the room is just palpably taut, ready for release. They’re all waiting for  _ her _ now. The once faint glow of the bracelet is now neon, like it, too, is screaming for the final member.

_ Welcome to Mantra _

_ You are currently number 25 in the queue _

_ Please hold.  _

Right after DT is finished, a red light flashes at the front of the stage, but no one is there. Now, it feels like every fibre of Adora’s muscles are clenched, gritting teeth with the stinging impatience of the teasing. 

The main background melody has crescendoed methodically, now taking over all of the sounds echoing about in the room, bringing it unity. The pulse is now at the sixteenth note and the waiting is now starting to not just burn, but  _ hurt _ \--the anticipation  _ hurts _ , because the song is starting, but where is Catra?

Then, as soon as everything is built up, it cuts away. They’re all expecting this--it’s written into the song they know and love. What they  _ don’t  _ expect is for every light in the room to immediately cut away, shrouding everyone in darkness, save for the front of the stage.

Again, the red light is there but in it this time is Catra, head high, smirk absolutely captivating and  _ devilish _ , as finally the band is brought together.

And after the shock, the room is  _ deafening _ . 

For several seconds, all Adora can hear is cheering--even her own is covered by the united sound. The colors--pink, green, orange, purple, and red, all flash across the room in streams of light, casting across the chandelier inconsistently but to the beat, making the old, gorgeous structure dance with the lights of the band. The bracelets throb in the same way--everyone’s changing colors to different shades and at different intervals, turning the repurposed ballroom into a kaleidoscope. 

Before Catra comes in with the vocals, Adora manages the following things: 1. She realizes that her mouth is open and she shuts it; 2. She’s awed by their strategy and the sheer control the band has over the crowd; and 3. She’s definitely a little turned on right now, eyes locked onto the Magicat, and she  _ likes it. _

_ Do you wanna start a cult with me? _

_ I'm not vibrating like I ought to be _

_ I need a purpose, I can't keep surfing _

_ Through this existential misery _

_ Now we're gonna need some real estate _

_ But if I choose my words carefully _

_ Think I could fool you that I'm the guru _

_ Wait, how do you spell epiphany? _

_ Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off _

_ Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot _

_ Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one _

_ 'Cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra _

Adora didn’t realize that she was on another plane of existence, but now that she’s relatively back in her body, she can appreciate her old friend more.

The woman is the epitome of confidence and it’s obvious she knows it. The suit she wears is tailored perfectly to her; skinny, almost form fitting, but still accentuating the delicate curves of her lithe frame. It’s a deep maroon--the type of deep that looks black in dim lighting--but with red trim, and even the pants have a red stripe running up on the sides. Her button-up is black and her top few buttons are undone, revealing a tuft of fur. And  _ fuck,  _ Adora should not be allowed to get this horny looking at her  _ long-lost friend’s _ neck, but damn it all, there’s that collar from the band pic she saw days ago: studded, black leather, with the Horde logo dog tag.

Adora has to close her eyes and give herself a minute to calm the rushing desire.

_ Could I have your attention, please? _

_ It's time to tap into your tragedy _

_ Think you could use a new abuser _

_ Close your eyes and listen carefully _

_ Imagine you're stood on a beach _

_ Water gently lapping at your feet _

_ And now you're sinking, what were you thinking? _

_ That's all the time we have this week _

_ Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off _

_ Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot _

_ Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one _

_ 'Cause all you ever do is chant the same old mantra _

She gulps.  _ So there’s the outfit _ . Looking closer, Adora can see that Catra’s hair is longer than it was slicked back in the band pic. It’s still short, but it’s a little more wild. It’s just short enough that it won’t work well in a pony-tail but long enough that whatever gel she’s using has its work cut out for it to keep the thick hair back.  _ It’s out of her eyes, at least. _ She can’t help but feel very  _ pleased _ that Catra is adorning the black lipstick again, too. In her research, she read that red used to be her thing--present in every band outing, photo, what-have-you--but she’s changed colors because she’s a different person than she used to be or something. Adora isn’t sure; some things don’t stick well when she’s being a useless lesbian. Regardless, she looks  _ good _ , and a quick glance at the others shows they look okay too. 

What? Honestly, they could be wearing Gucci or trash bags--it didn’t matter with Catra there.

_ And I know this doesn't make a lot of sense _

_ But do you really wanna think all by yourself now? _

_ All I'm asking for's a little bit of faith _

_ You know it's easy to believe _

_ And I know this doesn't make a lot of sense _

_ You know you gotta work the corners of your mind now _

_ All I'm asking for's a little bit of faith _

_ You know it's easy to, so easy to believe _

_ If-- _

It’s back to DT. The rest of the band has disappeared in this loop, lighting dulling on them as their bandmate takes the reins and the lighting elsewhere puts on a show.

_ If you can live without caffeine _

_ If you can be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains _

_ If you can resist complaining _

_ If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time _

_ If you can take criticism and blame without resentment _

_ If you can ignore a friends' limited education and never correct him or her  _

_ If you can resist treating a rich friend better than a poor friend _

_ If you can face the world without lies and deceit _

_ If you can calm your tension without medical help _

_ If you can relax without liquor _

_ If you can sleep without the aid of drugs _

_ If you can honestly say that deep in your heart, you have no prejudice against creed, color, religion, gender preference, or politics _

The lights transition for location to location, swirling 360 degrees while retaining the same crossing pattern, quick blips of nothingness to ease the transition. The band’s colors swirl in and out but pink is the dominant one right now--it’s casting shapes out onto the walls, the audience, everywhere, just collapsing boxes and overlapping mandalas. The bracelets pulse with the lights, creating a slight strobing effect in the individual bands. Adora can tell that each bracelet is again offset from each other, but it’s purposeful--somehow they’re controlled in a way to utilize their location. A unified effect that mocks a wave crashes through one side of the audience and flows to the other. Sometimes multiple waves happen at once, crashing into each other and creating larger sections of pure, bright pink, while others have dimmed considerably. It’s so strange but so cool that Adora honestly wonders if this is what being on an alien spaceship would be like. 

But she doesn’t have much time to contemplate it--DT’s interlude has come to an end, and the rest of the song is transitioning back in. She does catch their last line, though, and can’t help the snort of a laugh that comes booming out of her. 

_ Congratulations--you have reached the same level of spiritual development as a chinchilla. _

_ Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off _

_ Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot _

_ Before the truth will set you free, it will piss you off _

_ Before you find a place to be, you're gonna lose the plot _

_ Too late to tell you now, one ear and right out the other one _

_ 'Cause all you ever do, is chant the same old mantra _

The lights relax at the conclusion of the song and the crowd cheers. Adora looks to her friends who turn to look at her; they’re smiling so hard it looks like their skin is going to stretch permanently--just like her.

“My, my, darlings. Aren’t you excited.”

Adora whoops with everyone else, only pausing to take a drink of beer.

DT chuckles a little, sly smile ever present. “I knew there was a reason we chose this venue specifically.” They’re definitely pandering to the crowd but they’re  _ owning  _ it, expressing no shame whatsoever.

They turn to Catra on the screen. “Perhaps they deserve a reward, hmm? What do you think, Kitten?”

_ Kitten?  _ Adora flushes with heat.

The Magicat tosses her own sly grin. “I think I know of something to sate their appetite.” She turns toward the others. “How ‘bout we kick this up a notch?” 

Lonnie laughs into her mic. “Y’know, a mosh pit sounds fucking delicious right now.”

As they make their agreeances and Catra cackles “patience” into the mic, a circle is already opening in front of the stage.

“You fuckers ready?” Lonnie’s tone of voice is the type that incites violence, all goading and rough.

Rogelio roars and Kyle shouts “hell yeah!” and Adora almost cries out in laughter at how his dorky, high-pitched response sounded with Rogelio’s guttural menace, but Lonnie’s ready to kick it off, starting the song with the heavy, unclean vocals. 

_ Said the skeptic  _

_ Born and bred negative _

_ No peace for the calm collective _

_ There’s a cold war coming in _

_ Go! _

And with the drive of the guitars, the pit is off, immediately a frenzy of bodies. In the chaos, many collide, but they all get back up again and become rowdier once the chorus comes for the first time, sung out by Catra.

_ Sick of our society _

_ Sick of trying to fit inside a life I cannot lead _

_ Sick of always following _

_ Sick of trying to be another cog in their machine _

_ Sick of running on empty, pushing the blame _

_ Waiting for tomorrow to save us from today _

_ There's no profit in poverty _

_ And I'm running on empty _

_ I'm running on empty _

_ Running myself into the ground! _

After that, they’re off and running. Adora’s practically vibrating with energy, jumping and moving in place as the group tears through the--

_ It's me against the rest! _

_ I'm reaching through the darkness _

_ Is anybody out there? _

_ I tried to cheat death _

_ Played it like a game _

_ But I feel it in the moonlit air _

_ Moonlit  _

_ Moonlit  _

_ Moonlit _

_ But I feel it in the moonlit air _

of Moonlit, off their second album, and the--

_ I push my fingers into my eyes _

_ It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache _

_ But it's made of all the things I have to take _

_ Jesus, it never ends, it works it's way inside _

_ If the pain goes on _

of Duality, off their first album.

Adora’s positively thriving before Catra starts in on the next song. Then, she completely loses her shit.

“So,” the singer starts, addressing the crowd. “It shouldn’t come as a shock to you that I’ve made impulsive, headstrong decisions in the past.”

Oh  _ God,  _ does Adora laugh at that.

“A few years ago there was a little controversy about my--” she purposefully pauses, bringing her tongue across her bottom lip and one of her fangs. 

The way she stares into the camera makes it feel like she’s staring at Adora, and she immediately stops laughing, throat dry. She barely notices Bow and Glimmer give each other a look in response. 

“--private time.”

Oof-- _ that _ . The band exploded onto the metal scene after their first album. They weren’t cross-genre yet, but they made an impression in their home genre. They toured  _ a lot _ with groups like Dance Gavin Dance, Bad Omens, While She Sleeps, even  _ DragonForce _ , and went platinum after opening for both Lamb of God and Tool. They didn’t start to cross until touring with Bring Me the Horizon after their second album, but they were big enough to attract fans and trolls, alike. 

Adora’s lying to herself when she says she isn’t jealous of the girls in the articles and online forums who said that Catra “seduced” them. Not one bit when they raved about her “skills,” building into a  _ huge _ reputation that turned sweet and sour; one that was brought up in every interview, ask-the-band, and piece of news for  _ months _ . She isn’t jealous at  _ all _ , which is why she didn’t read  _ any _ of it while she did her research.

_ Ughhh _ . Adora groans as her ear redden.

“I was forbidden from making any statements so I took to other means.” Catra’s been holding the mic in one hand, the other resting on her guitar, but now she slowly, tantalizingly drags it up the stand to switch the microphone into the new hand.

Adora swallows a gulp of her beer.

“What resulted was the brash decision to write, record, and release a song without the consent of our producer. But,” she shakes her head, closing her eyes for a moment, “ _ mierda _ , what a song it turned out to be. Now, we could bury it like many bands who’re ashamed down the road do.” Someone boos and she laughs. The skin on her nose bunches up as she releases that high-pitch cackle of hers that hasn’t changed a bit. “Exactly. Why do that when the song is just so--” She tilts her head with practiced slowness, baring her neck and looking across the crowd and into the camera with what are  _ most definitely  _ bedroom eyes. “--sexy?”

And Catra smirks, thrumming her claws across the strings of her guitar for the intro riff. When she opens her mouth, lyrics falling out like some sort of sung mix between a growl and a moan, Adora’s completely at her mercy, unbeknownst to her.

_ I'm the girl you're thinking about _

_ The one thing you can't live without _

_ I'm the girl you've been waiting for _

_ I'll have you down on your knees _

_ I'll have you begging for more _

_ You probably thought I wouldn't get this far _

_ You thought I'd end up in the back of a car _

_ You probably thought that I'd never escape _

_ I'd be a rat in a cage, _

_ I'd be a slave to this place _

_ You don't know how hard I fought to survive, _

_ Waking up alone when I was left to die _

_ And you don't know about this life I've lived, _

_ All these roads I've walked _

_ All these tears I've bled! _

_ So how can this be? _

_ You're praying to me _

_ There's a look in your eyes, _

_ I know just what that means _

_ I can be, I can be your everything _

Adora stops breathing, mouth agape as she waits for the fierce chorus.

_ I can be your whore! _

_ I am the dirt you created _

_ I am your sinner _

_ I am your whore _

_ But let me tell you something baby _

_ You love me for everything you hate me for _

Catra’s a methodical person; Adora knows this. She knows exactly what she’s doing at any given time. She may not always have control, but this? This is  _ power _ . Catra may lazily caress her guitar, but it’s with  _ precision _ \--careful movements, careful placements, careful flexes of the finger, unsheathing her claws as the camera zooms in--but it’s no doubt on  _ purpose _ and it’s torturous but  _ addicting _ . 

_ I'm the one that you need and fear _

_ Now that you're hooked, it's all becoming clear _

_ That all your judgments that you placed on me _

_ Was a reflection of discovery! _

_ So maybe next time when you cast your stones _

_ From the shadows of the dark unknown _

_ You will crawl up from your hiding place _

_ And take a look in the mirror _

_ See the truth in your face! _

The bridge leaves Adora begging, so desperate in her want that she’s too gone to care about all the strings attached--not when Catra’s yelling-- _ crying _ \--out in a way that works perfectly for the song, but sounds so achingly close to noises Adora wishes she was stimulating.

The lights bathe Catra in maroon, moving delicately across her as she performs, only occasionally being interrupted by white. Catra, for her part, is completely lost in her performance. It’s intimate and personal like a lapdance as she thrusts her hips into the guitar she strums, intoxicating as she lolls her head back, releasing the sighs of her verses on perpetually parted lips.

Adora’s body nearly caves into the last lines.

_ But let me tell you something baby _

_ You love me for everything you hate me for _

_ You love me for everything you hate me for _

Logically, Adora knows there are  _ thousands _ of people here with her, but it’s the best foreplay Adora’s ever had, so much so that it takes Glimmer roughly shaking her out of her heavy haze several songs later for her to snap out of it.

The girl looks annoyed but there’s also mischief in her eyes. Yet, Adora’s still too out of it to see it and make excuses for her behavior. “Shit, what did I miss?”

“You Are We and most of this.”

_ And all the things that you never ever told me _

_ And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me _

_ Never coming home _

_ Never coming home _

_ Could I _

_ Should I _

_ And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me _

_ For all the ghosts that are never gonna _

“Aww, damn!”

Adora really likes this song. It’s soothing in a harsh, emotional way, but it’s tasty. She loves the music video, too--placed in the 1940s, the band moves back and forth between performing at an old timey bar where people are dancing and D-Day, where they’re storming the beaches. At the dance, Catra wears this incredibly sexy uniform that-- _ Adora, stop. Stop being horny. Bad. Pay attention now and fantasize later when you don’t have anything to do! _

She chooses to ignore the blush the last thought causes. 

“Rumor has it,” the feline starts, moving on, “ that this song’s creative influence was the protests at Standing Rock.”

The crowd both booms and hushes, a different type of heavy blanketing the ballroom.

“And many say that I was there.”

_ Oh yeah, that was  _ totally  _ you _ . 

Immediately, Adora is skimming through the snapshots of Tumblr and Reddit posts in her head. 

Throughout the major push-backs of the protests, there was always a mysterious figure that showed up to give the protesters the edge they needed. Covered head to toe in black, their features were mostly hidden; all that could be seen was the cat ears that poked up under a hood and the heterochromatic eyes that could be seen through the clear cover of a gas mask. 

The figure became a sort of legend, appearing and disappearing without a trace, tampering with police equipment, sabotaging the actual pipeline, and rescuing people during desperate moments. 

There aren’t many clear videos or pictures of the figure, but the most notable one shows them riding in on the back of a Sioux horse before leaping off, using their momentum to bowl several officers and a police dog out of the way as they tried to arrest one of the older leaders. It was nerve-wracking to watch, but the figure danced around the group long enough for the woman to escape. This was the closest they’ve ever been to getting caught, but lucky dodges allowed the person to gracefully waltz through the line of officers and toward the man and horse that brought them in in the first place, allowing their swift exit. 

With the band’s public, vocal stances on protests, the song lyrics, and many fans’ obsession, super fans put it together and identified Catra. Not officially though--there was no evidence, hence no arrest, but they knew, and Adora had to commend them. Fifteen years of her life made her able to recognize the woman anywhere, but a few years of fandom to the nth degree made their eyes accurate while the police couldn’t get a  _ finger _ on her years and several different protests later.

So, forgive Adora if she snorts at Catra’s coyness, surrounded but  _ thousands _ of people who knew better.

“I can only say what my lawyer has directed me to: I plead the fifth.” In the background, the synthesizer has begun looping its chords at the beginning of the song. “But take what you will out of this song, so long as you’re encouraged to never be a bystander.”

_ We hold on to the lies to feel free, _

_ So shackled by smiles, so empty _

_ We're scared of the war, _

_ So we've forgotten who we are _

_ We've traded in hope for safety _

_ We're raised in the smoke, _

_ Insisting that we're all too tired to light the fire, _

_ And shake the earth _

_ But if all we are is just machines, _

_ Then let's become a miracle _

_ And break free from these chains _

_ We must be more than just machines, _

_ So let them hear our hearts, _

_ So let them hear our hearts _

_ So let them hear our hearts, _

_ So let them hear our hearts! _

“Yeah!” Catra’s growl pierces through the tenseness of the room, motivating everyone despite how much the heaviness threatens to weigh them down. 

_ Where will you run _

_ When there's no place left for you to hide? _

_ When you're faced with the flood, _

_ Will you stand for the future _

_ And swallow your pride? _

As Adora looks around, she sees nobody with dull eyes--fierce determination transfers from band to fan as if it were contagious.

_ Sometimes I feel like _

_ I'm the only one who dares to dream! _

_ I scream at the top of my lungs, _

_ I hope that I'm proven wrong! _

_ But if all we are is just machines, _

_ Then let's become a miracle _

_ And break free from these chains _

_ We must be more than just machines, _

_ So let them hear our hearts _

_ So let them hear our hearts! _

As the chorus repeats again, Adora manages her first realization since Mantra: The Horde is not just a band to its fans. Sure, they are incredibly talented but they stand for so much more--they are a  _ symbol _ to their fans and not just some myth or preacher; they’re out there on the same battlefield in the flesh wearing the same scars.

After the last repeat, the music settles, simmering without the driving vocals and guitars. The flame isn’t burnt out, though--just the opposite. A spring is wound tight, so close to breaking, but needing that extra edge to finally snap it. Catra stimulates the audience to make it happen.

“You know how this part goes.  _ Juntos _ . Are you ready?”

The cheering is so different from earlier. The high-pitched excitement deepens considerably, sitting low within the guts of those who cry out. This is coming from a place that’s profound and bottomless--untapped caverns of human passion fighting to resist. 

_ If all we are is just machines, _

_ Then we must be the cogs, _

_ Inside the wheels of change _

_ We must be more than just machines, _

_ We can't afford to hide _

_ We must embrace the pain _

Their voices are digging their heels in against the oppressors that face them, whoever they might be imagining. It’s like everyone is standing tall, like they’re ready to lose everything knowing they might not endure what’s to come but they’re still going to struggle for what’s right because that has more meaning than just  _ surviving. _ And God, it’s incredible to hear that much intensity coming from the  _ fans _ and not just the band.

_ If all we are is just machines, _

_ Then we must be the cogs, _

_ Inside the wheels of change _

_ We must be more than just machines, _

_ We can't afford to hide _

_ We must embrace the pain _

Catra screams with them, mouth away from the mic as the stadium roars. Together, they are one. White lights like searchlights beam across everyone. Red and orange lights rocket across the audience, thrumming in the flickering light of the wristbands like explosions on the battleground. The sound of it all creates this epic cacophony that swallows the entire room whole without reservation, drowning its inhabitants, but that doesn’t stop them--only makes everyone scream  _ louder _ .

When Catra comes back in for the last three lines, it’s like she’s the point of a spear made up of all of their energies. She’s leading the charge but risking the greatest sacrifice. Still, The Horde keeps moving until the weapon hits its intended target, the music fading as if the firework went off and is now falling from the sky. 

Catra’s voice echoes out.

“Where will you run when there’s no place left for you to hide? When you’re faced with the flood, will you stand for the future or swallow your pride?”

The tension leaves the air thick and humid, but Adora feels like she can breathe now, even though she’s still screaming with the full capacity of her lungs. 

Catra has backed out of the light that illuminated her, disappearing from the stage. So has Kyle and DT, leaving just Rogelio and Lonnie as they take off in duet. Adora still feels weight on her shoulders, but the fast paced, rapid rhythming of the two work in tandem keep Adora energized while she comes down from her high. 

“Fuuuuck,” Glimmer drags out. “I feel spent but I also want to punch something.”

Bow looks dead serious, unblinking as he says “I’m ready to topple the patriarchy.”

Adora laughs, slightly turning her head back to watch Lonnie rip her bass to shreds, slapping the guitar into practically  _ pieces _ as she rages through her solo. 

“God, they’re fucking great.”

The comment lingers in the air as they relax before it’s absorbed at the last strike from Lonnie’s bass. Adora saves her scratchy voice, having already pushed its limit barely a third of the way into the concert, and claps instead.

But, of course,  _ fuck her _ because Lonnie’s now faded and left and Catra’s back, a different guitar--an  _ eight  _ string?--in hand, and she’s yelling all over again.

A backing track plays overhead--seems they’re focusing on individuals right now, probably giving the others a break, though Rogelio has stayed. Well,  _ for now _ , likely. He sits patiently as he catches his breath and waits for his entrance. Catra is noodling softly on the guitar while the track builds tension, with piano, clarinet, and xylophone acting as softer builders to help ease the transition of band members. Brass adds edge, and as the guitar whispers the promises to come, Adora’s become ready for takeoff again. 

Catra’s nearing liftoff when Glimmer gasps, “guys! This is Tendonitis!” Bow’s responding smile is so bright it sparks, and Catra must be gasoline because all of a sudden, her guitar is on  _ fire _ .

_ How is it humanly possible to move your hands like that?! _

Adora’s wide awake and attentive as the Magicat’s fingers stretch across the guitar into positions that seem purposefully difficult, gliding up and down the guitar with haste and precision as her claws rake the strings rapidly. The set takes off behind her but all Adora can see is the mastery those fingers display as they absolutely  _ dominate _ the frets.

Catra is showing off every nook and cranny in her technical ability, destroying the whammy bar, but also being mindful of the music. She’s not just going fast at all times, loud as hell and fast as fuck--she takes her time at softer volumes, lingers in the mid range of the guitar to let it sing at a different octave before she builds it back up with the rocketing ability of her fingers. Rogelio meets her perfectly, propelling her further as she races with the intricate chords and rhythms and backing her up when she needs more solid footing. It’s incredible how well he compliments her, same as with Lonnie--it’s an ease that comes with hours of practice and the bond between friends. He’s just as brilliant as she is.

Well, maybe not quite, but in all fairness Catra is a league of her own. Adora doesn’t think it’s exaggerating to call her  _ god tier _ .

Their end draws near and Adora is,  _ again _ , completely beside herself with her old friend’s talent. It’s absolutely no wonder the band is peaking how they are; this is a line-up that fantasy footballers aspire for in their own realms and small town punks dream of in their boring school classes. This is the type of talent that thrives and grows and every drop of it is  _ delicious _ . 

She’s still daydreaming when Rogelio finally makes his leave and DT graces the stage, showcasing every ounce of their talent as they perform Nihilist Blues like a true showperson. 

While they go off, Adora’s basked in light blue light and stunned as it takes  _ shape _ on stage.

_ How the fuck are they doing that? _

There aren’t any projectors in sight or any fixtures visible--it’s like it’s dancing on stage but there’s no people. Wavelengths move with the elegance of a ballerina in front of them, taking them through a routine of stretching limbs and twirling bodies. Sometimes they disappear in favor of a massive bust singing the lyrics. Other times, they completely scatter, abandoning their human forms to cast across the ballroom in quaking lines.

It’s absolutely magnificent and  _ impossible _ .

“How are they doing that?” Bow’s been mumbling under his breath, listing theories and talking through possible ways but has been thoroughly stumped. A quick glance at Glimmer shows that she’s completely ignoring him for the reflections that dance in her iris.

Adora doesn’t know DT but she knows they’re the exact talent Catra needs to compete against her own. 

She knows from research that they all met in college in the top jazz ensemble. Rogelio was their main set player, Lonnie their bassist (she even did upright), Kyle their vibes (vibe player? Vibest?), Catra their guitarist, and DT their pianist. Working in that particular section required deft work, blending, and communication to craft such a tight group, but it made its impact outside Jazz, too. DT and Catra have been a tight unit since meeting, becoming an unstoppable force of exploring new ideas and provoking new approaches for each other. In many ways, they’re similar--not just musically, but personally, too--but their differences and uniqueness challenges the other in such a way that “there’s no Horde without that relationship,” if she remembers what Lonnie said right. 

It’s cool to think of how much is really working behind the scenes for the band and incredible to see their products manifest in such a way. 

Adora can’t help but think this relationship is the highlight of the next several songs and it has her  _ buzzing _ .

The wind up at the beginning of Myopia, the dripping effects and Catra’s stacking melody--DT’s harmony to the guitars in the chorus with Catra’s singing on top, along with the effects guiding into the thrashing of the post-chorus--

“They’re living in denial!” Catra screams.

“Of science!” The crowd echoes, and it continues.

“They’re happy to defile!”

“Silence!”

“Yeah, they’re living in denial!”

“Of science!”

“They’re happy to defile!”

“Silence!”

\--then, the throbbing electronic bass while Catra sings the verses of Parasite Eve and the trickling in of higher-pitched rhythms--DT’s pre-chorus and seamless hand-off to Catra--

_ Please, remain calm _

_ The end has arrived _

_ We cannot save you _

_ Enjoy the ride _

_ This is the moment _

_ You've been waiting for _

_ Don't call it a warning _

_ This is a war _

_ It's the Parasite Eve _

_ Got a feeling in your stomach 'cause you know that it's coming for ya _

_ Leave your flowers and grieve _

_ Don't forget what they told ya, ayy ayy _

_ When we forget the infection _

_ Will we remember the lesson? _

_ If the suspense doesn't kill you _

_ Something else will, ayy ayy _

\--and the broken, fading robotic-ness of DT’s ending while the guitars echo out; it’s not just polished and clever, it’s  _ devastatingly  _ badass. 

Adora’s thrilled with her analysis, letting it soak over her as she picks out her favorite verses to listen to in What’s Wrong.

_ Two years gone _

_ Came back as some bones and so cynical _

_ This skin don't feel like home _

_ It's all overgrown but you'll never know _

_ Take the mirror from the wall so I can't see myself at all _

_ Don't wanna see another damn inch of my skull _

_ Forget the poems of saints and ghosts _

_ I'm the one I fear the most _

_ Little did I know that I was only crying wolf _

….

_ Push and pull _

_ Oh it's all getting old _

_ No I didn't want this throne (no I didn't want this) _

_ Yeah, only fools make feasts of gold _

_ They rot the fruit on tables _

_ (No I didn't want this throne) _

_ When did I get so pitiful _

_ Just a goddamn corpse in a centerfold _

_ You got my back against the wall _

_ And now I can't ever get comfortable _

_ No I never sold my soul _

_ If I ever do throw my bones to the wolves _

_ No I never sold my soul _

_ No I never sold mine _

Now that she thinks about it, Adora wonders about the discomfort Catra describes in the lyrics. Her brows crinkle while she thinks, honestly pausing in her delight to contemplate, letting the sheer insistence of the chorus slowly corrupt her happy mood.

_ I know it's so wrong but I'm so far gone _

_ Don't need you to tell me I'm so cynical _

_ Quit being so over-skeptical _

_ Don't need a metaphor for you to know I'm miserable _

_ Oh, oh, woah _

_ Oh, oh, woah _

_ I don't need a metaphor for you to know I'm miserable (oh, oh, woah) _

She’s not bitter about the shift she feels. It happened suddenly, but Adora can’t help but notice how different these lyrics feel from the previous songs. It doesn’t have the defiance, the reaching emotions as the others.  _ This feels more...withdrawn? Like Catra isn’t singing for an audience, necessarily _ . She hadn’t really noticed it before.

“Hey,” she tries getting her roommates’ attention, but they either ignore her or don’t hear her.

She drags her phone out instead and questions Google.

_ What’s Wrong, The Horde. _

It’s from their second album, right before Cough Syrup.

Oh.

_ Oh. _

The thought doesn’t need to go much further when they copy the album order and the guitar whispers the intro of the next song.

_ Life's too short to even care at all oh _

_ I'm losing my mind losing my mind losing control _

_ These fishes in the sea they're staring at me oh oh oh oh oh oh _

_ A wet world aches for a beat of a drum, oh _

_ If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away _

_ To some fortune that I, I should have found by now _

_ I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down, come down _

Adora’s sobering quickly and glancing around shows that the other fans haven’t gotten there yet. She wets her lips and her eyes moisten as she watches Catra slowly lose the haughty confidence she had before, closing in on herself.

_ Life's too short to even care at all oh _

_ I'm coming up now coming up now out of the blue oh _

_ These zombies in the park they're looking for my heart oh oh oh oh _

_ A dark world aches for a splash of the sun oh oh _

_ If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away _

_ To some fortune that I, I should have found by now _

_ And so I run now to the things they said could restore me _

_ Restore life the way it should be _

_ I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down _

_ Life's too short to even care at all oh _

_ I'm losing my mind losing my mind losing control _

It’s happening so gradually--the way Catra’s posture slumps over, her shoulders tense up, and her movements become more awkward, more sharp and jagged instead of smooth. Her eye contact with the camera and the fans lessens and when she looks, she’s quickly gone again.

_ If I could find a way to see this straight, I'd run away _

_ To some fortune that I, I should have found by now _

_ And so I run now to the things they said could restore me _

_ Restore life the way it should be _

_ I'm waiting for this cough syrup to come down _

It’s all becoming more pronounced but the others just don’t seem to get it yet and it’s making Adora angry.  _ How can they not notice? Cough syrup? The metaphor for her addiction? _ The thought forces her to rub her eyes quickly, thinking of how much the pills hurt her.  _ What’s Wrong was  _ just  _ on.  _ Her grip on the railing cracks the wood as Catra’s voice softens, cracking with emotion.

_ One more spoon of cough syrup now whoa _

_ One more spoon of cough syrup now whoa _

The fans scream out as if everything was still normal. Adora knows it’s not--the mood is fucking  _ shifting _ , asshats!--and grabs the hands of her friends, some of the paint on the railing following her after her release. She doesn’t even notice the way Bow and Glimmer jump at the contact and question her with concerning glances.

They don’t open their mouths to speak before Catra does.

“Hey guys,” her cheeriness sounds forced to Adora’s ears. “Having a good time?”

This time, Bow and Glimmer are silent with her in the  _ maddening _ shouting.

“ _ Estoy contenta _ , I’m glad. This is a big event for us--our first major solo show.” 

More whoops. 

“An achievement like this deserves something special, and I’ve got some stuff planned out.” There’s barely a pause before she continues, ignoring the audience. “I’m lucky my bandmates were so supportive of my ideas, so I just want to publicly reiterate how grateful I am for you all. You’re my family and  _ te amo muchísimo _ .  I--I love you so much.” 

The noise starts to die down when Catra chokes on her last word. “Before I fall too far down the rabbit hole, I want you guys to know that I have a very special encore that we put together, but only if you ask nicely for it.” 

There’s a soft laugh and it slightly brightens her features again, but Adora’s heart just pangs.

“It’s uh--it’s a big song for me,” she gulps, “a really big song, so I’ll really need your support to keep going, alright?”

When the hands in Adora’s start to squeeze back in understanding, she’s beyond thankful. 

“We’ve got some special songs on the set list tonight, and I’ll explain more about the others later, but this next one is one we’ve never performed live before because--” Catra grips the microphone with both hands, eyes closed as she takes in shaky breaths. “--because it’s very hard for me to get through. The only time I’ve gone all the way through is when we were in the studio. All the other times, I had to stop. It’s just too close to the lowest I’ve ever been and it sucks me in so painfully.”

When she takes in a deep breath, so does Adora. She opens her eyes and they’re misty, the camera revealing the red coming through her blue and gold irises. 

Adora has been here for several concerts before but she has never heard it this silent.

“But I want to perform it for you all tonight. It might be selfish, but I want to do this for myself. For everything I’ve been through and everything I’ve overcome. I was so close,” she chokes, “to successfully committing suicide and I thank every star above that I didn’t because I wouldn’t be here today, doing the things I’m doing and meeting the wonderful people, like all of you, that I have.”

There’s a quick round of applause that Catra seems to take in for encouragement. 

“Sobriety is something I’ve struggled with since the accident that started it all, but I want to publicly announce that I’m going back to rehab before the tour starts.”

_ So  _ that’s  _ why there’s such a large gap between this kick-off and the actual first concert. _

“I want to be clean before we go and I want to challenge myself to avoid succumbing to temptation. I want to be present with you all-- _ fully _ present--so I can truly reach you like you have to me.” More energetic applause, and Catra stands more proudly. “So I’m going to start that by baring my soul to you tonight. Honesty and authenticity is the least you deserve, and I hope you’ll be receptive and kind for the rest of the time we have you here.  _ Gracias. Agradezco mucho _ .” 

The crowd is still clapping and yelling their support when Man of the Year starts playing.

Adora’s back on her bathroom floor in her mind, stomach contents completely expelled into their toilet as she sobs at the shock of Catra’s suicide attempt. She knows she’s already started to cry in the physical presence, but she can also feel her friends move to either side of her, sandwiching her in a warm, comforting embrace as they stand with her, watching the heart-wrenching lyrics come out of the real Magicat--not just the placeholder in the music video. 

And fuck, it’s like a decent into madness.

With each verse, Catra becomes more unravelled, fighting to keep the emotion from ruining her vocals. On that front, she succeeds, but the trade off is that she looks like a total  _ wreck _ \--sobbed exhales and inhales, aggressive thrashing of claws on guitar that’s most certainly leaving slashes on its surface, and a Catra that’s gradually being pulled from her body and into the control-less despair Adora has only seen once in her life--a memory she’s locked away since forever. It threatens to bubble to the surface but Adora pushes it back and masks it with the equally devastating imagery of the Catra who must’ve looked like  _ this  _ when she attempted to take her life.

By the time her last sung verse has come, Catra has nearly completed unraveling. Bloodshot eyes, ruffled hair, tear-stained cheeks--she’s the epitome of the meltdown she describes as she sings, and Adora doesn’t just want to sympathize; she wants to wrap the girl in her arms and never let go.

_ Filled with regret, alone in the end _

_ Barely a man, I ran from every decision _

_ Not about to justify, don't sympathize with my meltdown _

_ Not about to justify, don't sympathize with my meltdown _

_ I don't need a friend I'd rather keep it all to myself now _

_ 'Cause it's hard enough to follow up the fees of my self-doubt _

_ I had it all in the palm of my hand _

_ Don't have the time to start over again _

_ I had it all in the palm of my hand _

_ Ran out of time, now it's over again _

Slowly as Lonnie takes over the vocals and Catra fades into the background, the emotion on her face recedes, replaced with something decidedly  _ numb _ . Everything has drained from her face down into her hands, where every scrap of anguish projects out of her guitar.

Every other member of the band looks tortured, too, eyes glued to  _ her _ . DT has lost their cocky, gracefulness and their brows crease with concern; Rogelio’s lips are peeled back into a miserable snarl as he bangs on his set; Kyle is bawling, looking as small and frail as he did when they were kids; Lonnie is pleading, completely focused on Catra as she cries out, tears falling as she reaches for her. 

Adora guesses she looks no better as the last chord of the song echoes out. She can’t find it within her to yell out with the same affection and care as everyone else; it takes all her willpower just to keep standing when she either wants to sink to her knees or bolt across the stage and steal the girl away. Bow and Glimmer keep her in place, rubbing her back and speaking gentle, careful words into her ears as she tries to pull herself back together.

_ So that’s how it was for her _ .

If she had one wish, it would be that she was there with her when she wasn’t.

Lonnie speaks into her mic as Catra begins to walk off stage. “We’re going to give her a moment to come back to us, so please be patient.”

Kyle is still blubbering a little as he begins to talk. “This next song was one I co-wrote with my partners, Rogelio and Lonnie, after her attempt.” He sniffles. “Catra means a lot to me--to all of us, DT included. Music is everything to us, so we wanted to reach out to her with it, and there was no way, even if it is incredible in its own morbid way, that we could end the album with that song, so that’s how Family First was born.” He turns to the part of the stage where Catra disappeared, seemingly looking to her. “Catra, we love you so much. This is for you.”

Kyle’s voice isn’t as beautiful as Catra’s but each well-meaning intention and emotion are  _ everything _ . Nobody could sing it better.

_ No one ever said that you had to face this on your own _

_ Just do your best, forget the rest, _

_ You're stronger than you know _

_ So let it all go _

_ Don't dwell on all the things that you can't change, _

_ 'Cause we are stronger, _

_ Oh, we're so much stronger than we know _

Lonnie’s voice is much the same, though deeper in its timbre. She and Catra may have had a sort of rocky relationship when they were younger, but there was always this underlying respect and level of care, even if they wouldn’t admit it. It seems Lonnie’s unabashed about it now as she sings so intensely.

_ One by one you gave up hope and you prayed to God that I would choke, _

_ But I paid no mind to your attack _

_ Because empty words can never hold me back _

The entire stadium is singing with the band. DT has their auto-tune off and Rogelio, despite his inability to pronounce words, is humming out the melody with all his heart. Adora finds herself joining him as her trio sways back and forth slightly.

_ Every dream begins with a dreamer, _

_ We have a hope we must defend _

_ No matter what, we'll come out swinging, _

_ We haven't reached the end _

_ Every dream begins with a dreamer, _

_ We have a hope we must defend _

_ No matter what, we'll come out swinging, _

_ We haven't reached the end! _

Kyle and Lonnie keep going back and forth and they sing so much of a story that Adora can see them as they were--young and tired but determined.

_ Just know you're not alone; we'll always be your home! _

_ So never give up hope and know you're not alone; _

_ And you don't have to face this on your own _

_ We said that we would live forever _

_ Well you laughed instead, you said we're dead _

_ So get this through your head, I've got one more left _

_ You better be ready to bring us your worst, _

_ This army is our family, oh, _

_ This is our family, _

_ And family comes first _

This army--the Horde army; the fans were all but eager to take the name for themselves after the release of the song and the inspiration behind it.

There’s another realization from Adora: as much as the band inspires the fans, the fans are there for the band as well.

_ Every dream begins with a dreamer, _

_ We have a hope we must defend _

_ No matter what, we'll come out swinging, _

_ We haven't reached the end _

_ Every dream begins with a dreamer, _

_ We have a hope we must defend _

_ No matter what, we'll come out swinging, _

_ We haven't reached the end _

The room shakes with the thunder of the fans. Adora sees the chandelier sway slightly, feels the earthquake of support under her feet as she, too, yells out through her sobbing. Bow and Glimmer beside her are crying too, but now that she looks around, so is everyone else. Maybe they’ve lost people, maybe they’ve almost lost themselves, maybe Catra means a lot to them too, or maybe it’s some combination of it all, but the thousands here cry out with everything they have, as if they’d been bottling it up too long or didn’t realize this is what they needed in the moment until the moment came. It’s therapeutic to let all the emotions that’ve hit her since re-discovering her friends out, and she’s thankful everyone feels the same way regardless of their reasons because they can all let go here without fear of time; the clocks seem to have stopped for them, and they take advantage of it.

It takes awhile for Catra to reappear on stage but when she does, everything gets impossibly  _ louder _ .

Adora can see she’s still crying, but it’s much softer than earlier and accompanied by a slight smile. Her eyes are red but she has control of her body again. She looks so  _ thankful _ and meditative, just slowly walking out to her spot on stage, lovingly addressing her bandmates with her gaze, and letting her eyes scan the room. Adora aches at the way she makes eye contact with so many, showing so much appreciation, reverence, and affection despite the awe that clearly bathes her every move. She’s felt proud of her old everything multiple times the past few days, and she knows the rest of the concert is only going to make the feeling grow, but  _ man _ , the pride she’s feeling now is  _ burning _ . It’s strong but not unpleasant, and she can’t wait to share it with her.

“Thank you,” Catra whispers into the mic. “Thank you,” she repeats a minute later, louder than the last time. 

The audience quiets down but they, Adora and company included, all have the excited energy of a puppy, eager to be called for again. Still, everyone seems respectful of Catra so they let her do what she needs to do.

“Really--I cherish every person in this room right now. My bandmates are my heroes and my fans are my greatest support. Thank you all for helping me get to where I am today-- _ soy muy afortunada _ .”

Adora watches as Rogelio puts down his sticks, Kyle and Lonnie  _ sit down _ on the stage with their guitars in their laps. She’s never seen a band do that before, but it’s so natural as DT very humbly stands at their station and Catra moves to the edge of the stage, plopping down, hanging one leg off while the other helps support her guitar. Their eyes are fond as they watch her warmly pluck the notes of the next song.

The guitar echoes out, alone but not lonely as it travels across the room. It seems content to just be as it subtly makes its way into a thousand pairs of ears, and it’s unperturbed by DT’s faint accompaniment. 

Catra’s voice is almost a whisper as she starts to sing. “What do you see when you close your eyes? How do you feel when you see it? Who is to say that it isn’t real? And why can’t we learn to believe in, to believe in something?” 

The questions are delicate, unassuming. Adora grips her friends tighter as she feels a weightlessness surround them. While Catra sings, Adora doesn’t think--she just exists for a bit.

_ Look into the emptiness and step into the cold. _

_ Gravitate your body and your soul. _

_ Deep inside of all of us there's something left to hold. _

_ Even when we give up all hope, there's space enough to grow. _

_ I know that we are all terminal. _

_ We sail on borrowed time. _

_ It's never about what we live without, _

_ It's how we live out our lives. _

_ Look into the emptiness and step into the cold. _

_ Gravitate your body and your soul. _

_ Deep inside of all of us there's something left to hold. _

_ Even when we give up all hope, there's space enough to grow. _

The guitar echoes out alone again, but pleasantly so.

“What do you see when you close your eyes?” 

Catra’s final question is infinitely more delicate, but less fragile. It’s soothing, actually; the whole song feels like a lullaby--like the person listening has been sobbing, in the depths of despair and Catra is reaching out to bring them peace and rest. Adora tenderly holds the feeling close to her heart.

“When I was recovering, the messages I received from all of you touched me in a way I’ll never be able to fully describe. So many of you have been touched by suicide, and so many of you reached out to hold my hand, despite your own pain.” 

Catra is still seated but she earnestly takes in the audience, speaks almost conversationally to the people directly in front of her and in the highest balcony. 

“ _ Me salveste.  _ You invigorated me, pushing me to keep going even though it was hard, and you invoked a passion in me to do the same in return.”

She stands, making her way toward the microphone at her reddened spot. “This song is for everyone who helped me. For everyone who’s been in that place before. For the ones we’ve lost, and for the people who wish they were still here. This song is for you”

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

_ Who can relate? _

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

The band is all in on this song. Even though they start so restrained, Adora can see on each of their faces how much they want to let out every emotion they have.

_ I don't wanna be alive _

_ I don't wanna be alive _

_ I just wanna die today _

_ I just wanna die _

_ I don't wanna be alive _

_ I don't wanna be alive _

_ I just wanna die _

_ And let me tell you why _

_ All this other shit I'm talkin' 'bout they think they know it _

_ I've been praying for somebody to save me, no one's heroic _

_ And my life don't even matter _

_ I know it I know it I know I'm hurting deep down but can't show it _

_ I never had a place to call my own _

_ I never had a home _

_ Ain't nobody callin' my phone _

_ Where you been? Where you at? What's on your mind? _

_ They say every life precious but nobody care about mine _

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

_ Who can relate? _

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

Finally, they let loose.

Everything they’ve been holding back bursts out through the pleading instruments, the begging vocalist, and their passionate performance to show how much they mean every word.

_ I want you to be alive _

_ I want you to be alive _

_ You don't gotta die today _

_ You don't gotta die _

_ I want you to be alive _

_ I want you to be alive _

_ You don't gotta die _

_ Now lemme tell you why _

_ It's the very first breath _

_ When your head's been drowning underwater _

_ And it's the lightness in the air _

_ When you're there _

_ Chest to chest with a lover _

_ It's holding on, though the road's long _

_ And seeing light in the darkest things _

_ And when you stare at your reflection _

_ Finally knowing who it is _

_ I know that you'll thank God you did _

_ I know where you been, where you are, where you goin' _

_ I know you're the reason I believe in life _

_ What's the day without a little night? _

_ I'm just tryna shed a little light _

_ It can be hard _

_ It can be so hard _

_ But you gotta live right now _

_ You got everything to give right now _

Bow and Glimmer squish her with hugs and she huffs a laugh, heart tight and grateful.

“Love you guys.”

Bow puts his head on her shoulder and Glimmer tucks under her arm. “Love you too.”

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

_ Who can relate? _

_ I been on the low _

_ I been taking my time _

_ I feel like I'm out of my mind _

_ It feel like my life ain't mine _

Adora’s been waiting for these verses. She wants to hear, wants to see Catra mean it because Adora wants her to so badly. Adora  _ needs _ Catra to want to be here because she can’t stand the thought of her gone now that she’s so close to having her again. 

_ I finally wanna be alive  _

_ I finally wanna be alive _

_ I don't wanna die today _

_ I don't wanna die _

_ Finally wanna be alive  _

_ I finally wanna be alive _

_ I don't wanna die _

_ I don't wanna die _

_ (No, I don't wanna die) _

_ (I just wanna live) _

_ (I just wanna live) _

Catra doesn’t disappoint. Each word comes straight from her heart. With fangs out, brows crinkled, posture tall, and eyes sparkling, it comes ricocheting out with ferocity. Her lungs are giving every lyric everything they can, as if singing it as loud as possible will cement her resolve more or make another person feel it better. Her whole body heaves itself into the performance, and this is  _ exactly  _ what Adora needs in this moment. 

_ Pain don't hurt the same, I know _

_ The lane I travel feels alone _

_ But I'm moving 'til my legs give out _

_ And I see my tears melt in the snow _

_ But I don't wanna cry _

_ I don't wanna cry anymore _

_ I wanna feel alive _

_ I don't even wanna die anymore _

_ Oh I don't wanna _

_ I don't wanna _

_ I don't even wanna die anymore _

For a while, everyone just cheers--even the band. It feels like a celebration of life and of those who fight so hard. And as therapeutic as it was to let out her twisting, negative emotions, it’s  _ healing _ to be able to share all the positive ones right now. 

Bow and Glimmer have relaxed at her sides and she feels herself relaxing too as some of the band moves off stage.

Catra’s enthusiasm and confidence are back tenfold and she’s so genuinely  _ alive _ that it’s intoxicating. It’s so much so that Adora barely registers that the other band members have backed off, Catra and Kyle bathed in the spotlight as stage ninjas are rushing about.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for this brave nerd.” 

She looks proud and loving but like an older sister she pushes him slightly when he steps up beside her and he flushes red. He pushes her back and she cackles when she doesn’t move an inch, but they’re grinning at each other without an ounce of malice. 

“Whatever, Applesauce.” He squeaks into the microphone.

Catra is absolutely laughing her  _ ass  _ off. “You-- _ qué chingados _ \--” she tries to get the words out but she has to lean on him to remain upright because her body is shaking so hard. 

Adora is laughing too--gasping breaths and unsteady knees because  _ wow, he really just went there in front of all these people! _ Bow and Glimmer are laughing too, enjoying the banter between close friends despite not knowing what’s going on. They question her with their gaze but she’s wheezing too hard to explain. Instead, she holds her stomach with her arms and promises to tell them later.

“ _ ¡Cómo te atreves! _ ” Catra’s face is dramatically outraged but it’s belied by her laughing. “ _ ¡Malparido gonorrea hijueputa!” _

Kyle, for his part, looks sheepish though he’s definitely full-body laughing as Catra curses him.

“I’m sorry!”

“ _ Me cago en tu leche.” _

“I  _ swear _ I’m sorry!”

“ _ Pendejo. _ That’s supposed to be a fucking  _ secret _ ,  _ Rosemary.” _

And  _ fuck _ , Adora guffaws so hard she falls to her  _ knees _ . 

She remembers that day--the day they discovered that most people have more than one name. To each other, they were just Catra, Adora, Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio. They didn’t even use Weaver’s name at school, so when they found out about middle and last names, they spent an entire day coming up with theirs. Adora, having no better judgment at ten years old, chose Happysmile Rainbowfist but it wasn’t any worse than the others--Rogelio picked Verde Batería and Lonnie, who had spent time Googling famous Polynesian people, went with Rock Momoa. Kyle and Catra were having a hard time and with Lonnie hogging the iPod for her own research, they were left to their own devices--AKA searching around the home for ideas. 

After almost the entire day, Adora supplied Meowmeow as a last name for Catra. The others complained because technically Adora  _ named  _ Catra Catra by smooshing cat and her own name together. 

What? She didn’t already have a name and it was better than Weaver continuing to call her “pest.” 

Catra wouldn’t hear their complaints, though--she was always soft on Adora. Kyle, ever her adoring follower, decided he wanted to be a Meowmeow too. Catra had blushed but it wasn’t like she could tell the gangly, pepperoni face no, so she relented and they were left with middle names. How they ended up in the pantry is anyone’s best guess, but Catra picked the first thing she saw--Applesauce--and Kyle, looking at the spices, thought Rosemary sounded fucking _princely_ , and adopted that.

And here they were, in the middle of their twenties, calling each other their made up middle names in front of over a thousand people like they were still kids.

As she composes herself and the two on stage do the same, Adora watches as the stage crew finishes doing what they were doing--there are racks of guitars on either side of Catra and Kyle and each have their own complex pedalboard in front of them to control.

Glimmer, more with it than Adora, gasps comically loud when she figures out what’s going on before they do and she swears her eyes actually  _ sparkle _ with delight.

“ _Coño,_ I am _so_ going to kick your ass.” Catra smirks at Kyle.

Kyle smirks back but it lacks menace, almost like Catra took all of it before he could. “I  _ dare  _ you to try.” 

Catra’s placing her guitar on the rack behind her, swapping out for a white one with gold trim and--the camera zooms in--cat stickers on it. “You’re  _ on _ , pipsqueak!” She turns toward the audience. “You know the drill--scream it out for your favorites!”

Glimmer shakes Adora back and forth in excitement and she feels like a ragdoll in the hands of a toddler. “They’re fucking  _ battling _ . Oh fuck, I’ve always wanted to see them do it live!”

Catra starts off with a pleasant melody and Kyle then counters with his own. Adora can tell that he’s itching to shred, though, spending so much time ripping through the notes while Catra lingers, savoring things more. Before he’s even finished his solo, Catra adds harmony, and it’s cool to see them work together, if only for a few seconds, but it doesn’t last for long--Catra can  _ tell _ how much Kyle wants to go and she seems to say fuck it, making eye contact with the others as they transition into something heavier.

Catra has changed guitars for a sleek, deep teal one, and rushes headfirst into the battle, bending notes, shredding out screeching chords, and whacking her whammy. Kyle fights back with a new, almost star shaped guitar, ripping his fingers down the frets, taking his time to get to the higher range. When he starts utilizing both hands to really dig into the upper register, the crowd goes wild, enjoying how he scratches off the conclusion of his solo.

Her smirk is wicked as she throws the guitar behind her head, and so is the response from the audience. With a new maroon 8-string, Catra’s cocky and showing off the full expanse of the guitar  _ her way _ . While Kyle admired the verticality of the instrument, the Magicat explores the extra strings of the 8-string horizontally, paying particular attention to the middle. And  _ wow _ \--the way she lets the mids strut so simply is like licking a plate clean after a meal. She lets the register  _ sing  _ and enjoy its moment in the limelight. But, of course, she’s still being arrogant, not missing a note even with the guitar out of sight.

On his own orange 8-string, Kyle’s not having it. He prizes the high strings through atypical sixteenth notes that don’t sound right, but in an  _ aesthetic  _ way. When he repeats the same section again Catra doubles down on it with her own harmony, creating a sound that’s messily clean and cool in a weird steampunk kinda way, but she drops out when he moves on, bending out more discordant whole notes and rhythms.

Catra jumps in with a completely different approach. It’s like she’s contradicting everything Kyle just did, gliding through chords more agreeable to the ear. And  _ fuck _ , she’s showing off the stretch of those incredible fingers--and no, Adora does  _ not _ blush at the thought--putting three entire frets between her pointer and her pinky without slowing down.

But Kyle does, though. Whereas Catra’s guitar raced, Kyle’s now cruises, giving more love to the low E and A strings for a while before caressing the D and G. Not long after he gets to the B and high E, he starts to properly shred on them. During that time, Catra switches to what looks like a tie-dyed black guitar and once it’s settled comfortably, she cuts over his last note with very distorted half notes. She must be messing with the pedalboard because her melody is cleaner, but Adora barely pays attention because Catra’s got the guitar in front of her face now, using her  _ teeth _ to solo. And  _ fuck _ , somehow it sounds great in a unique, uncomfortably soothing way--Adora feels like this is what being abducted by aliens would feel like--and Kyle shows her what interrupting that would be like, harshly contrasting it with the gainier, grittier sound he makes on his Abasi. 

Catra rears up to go again but then doesn’t. She’s cackling and switching guitars, taking her time while Kyle is ending his solo. But why is she--

Because she’s looking over at Lonnie who’s got a shit-eating grin on her face, now slapping her bass like there’s no tomorrow. And damn, she does--tearing through notes lightning fast as she beats the solo out of the guitar. Catra makes some slow head bobs and the others nod back, watching her as Lonnie strums her last chords, and following her as she suddenly transitions them to a much calmer, slower sound.

She’s got a black Ibanez out, gracefully losing herself in her own melody as her shredding becomes much mellower and more tranquil. Her eyes are focused on what she’s doing, but her posture has relaxed in a way that makes her seem meditative. It’s like she’s practicing her mindfulness, but the guitar has become an extension of her body and she’s listening to how it’s feeling and what it has to say. And by God, she’s made a guitar battle  _ peaceful _ , and Adora loves every second of it. She loves how some godly, omniscient, melodic presence always drives Catra and the girl is always faithful to it. She’s like a monk but for guitars, and Adora should be laughing at herself for that thought but the Magicat looks so serene as she shreds so pleasantly that Adora doesn’t have it in her to say she’s wrong because honestly? She’s not.

Kyle’s bouncing on the balls of his feet though and Adora can tell he’s just ready to  _ go _ . She chuckles softly when he kicks things up again, his Abasi still at his disposal.

And he’s good--great, actually, and there’s no question about it. He’s a far cry from the younger teenager who followed Catra like a puppy dog any chance he got. Kyle looks just as good here and now as he looked in that band picture she saw--slim, small, but more confident, and that translates into his playing. Adora’s no expert, but his technique sure seems fantastic and he seems to have the music theory to really guide what he’s doing. He lacks the same presence that Catra has though, but who can blame him? The girl is a  _ masterpiece _ . But he’s holding his own, so while he doesn’t have the same melodic integrity and genius (or cocky showmanship), he’s still really fucking good and enjoyable to watch and listen to. 

When Catra comes back in, whacking her whammy to give her solo practically vertigo, Adora can’t help but gush. Like, she thinks she’s always known that she has feelings for Catra, even when she was young and didn’t know what they meant, and even during the ten years they spent apart. It just felt natural; there’s so much to love about her, and her talent is only the surface. Kyle’s ripping through his last solo, but Adora is dreamily looking at the Magicat.

And she doesn’t care-- _ sorry, Kyle _ \--because that’s all she wants to do right now. Still, out of respect, she’s sure to open her ears, hearing the last of Kyle’s guitar crying out as Catra starts ripping apart hers, bending the strings harshly but delivering such a tasteful shred, which, wow, she has to chastise herself for thinking that.  _ Jeeze _ , she snorts.  _ “Tasteful shred?” Is this Chopped for guitars? _

But now Catra has calmed her playing, choosing to mostly tap as she wraps the battle up with a neat, warm conclusion. 

As the chord echoes out, Adora smiles and claps, just stunned to silence. She misses her. She misses her so much, and as much as the backstage pass burns in her pocket, bleeding anxious poison into her bloodstream, she can’t wait to see her again, and not just from afar.

And damn, as much as she told herself to pay attention and day dream later, the sweet thoughts take her so thoroughly that she misses the majority of the next few songs, focused instead on thoughts of--

_ Did you sell your soul to the headlines? _

_ We'll never let you take this away from us _

_ There's no bribe I'd take to betray this trust _

_ Teach our young why we can't survive? _

_ Bow down to the hypocrites _

_ Or the great deceivers of our innocence _

_ Did you bite your tongue, live another lie? _

_ The new wave of realistic minds _

_ What's broken can be fixed _

_ Me and my brothers know we'll never hide _

_ We're living in a system on the brink of sacrifice _

_ And still _

_ Why are we dying to live? _

_ A sickness we're living in _

_ From here to here _

_ We're like a flickering flame _

_ We're never once the same _

_ From here to here _

_ You can steal the sun _

_ It wouldn't be enough _

\--how will it feel to see the guys again? Will they be happy? Will they cry and hug her? Will  _ Catra _ ? And--

_ You are just a heaven, deaf to what I say _

_ Hell will surely listen, but it never feels the same _

_ You are just a heathen, blind to what I see _

_ This spontaneity, makes me want to leave _

_ But as the ocean ebbs and flows _

_ Your love, it comes and goes _

_ The echo of your goodbye _

_ It lingers like a shadow _

_ And how can I _

_ Make you stay a little longer? _

_ Stay a little longer _

_ Stay a little longer _

_ Moonless midnight _

_ I'll drown inside your dark deluge _

_ For my whole life _

_ Pitch-black sunshine _

_ You waste up all my daylight _

_ And I'm so tired _

_ The echo of your goodbye _

_ It lingers like a shadow _

_ And how can I _

_ Make you stay a little longer? _

_ Stay a little longer _

_ Lingers like a shadow _

\--will she like her friends? Will she appreciate that Adora has found wonderful people despite her being torn away? But--

_ I saw the world a couple times, tried to cure the ache with absence _

_ But that hole was still a hole and my mind kept playing tricks on me _

_ Feeling older every day, took everything I had to not crash and burn _

_ But I'm starting to learn _

_ Sometimes I'll fall down, sometimes I'll lose hope _

_ But those days will be few if I keep my feet on the ground _

_ I might be lonely, but I ain't alone here _

_ So I keep pushing the limits of what makes me _

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted _

_ To sit alone in a room and say it all out loud _

_ Every moment, every second, every trespass _

_ Every awful thing, every broken dream _

_ A couple years back and forth with myself in a cage _

_ Banging my head against the wall tryna put words on a page _

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted _

_ To be alone in a room, alone in a room _

_ I can be better than I was _

_ I can be better than I am _

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted _

_ To sit alone in a room _

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted _

_ To sit alone in a room and say it all out loud _

_ Every moment, every second, every trespass _

_ Every awful thing, every broken dream _

_ A couple years back and forth with myself in a cage _

_ Banging my head against the wall tryna put words on a page _

_ All I needed was the last thing I wanted _

_ To be alone in a room, alone in a room _

_ - _ -oh god, but what if they’re angry? What if they think she  _ abandoned  _ them?

The pass in her pocket feels like it’s melting through her jeans, burning through each layer of her skin. Like it wants to reach the inside, somewhere deep where it can hurt her more profoundly. 

She feels dizzy, like she might pass out or throw up because the sheer  _ thought _ that they could shun her or be upset with her is just too much, but--

But Glimmer and Bow are at her side, squealing because Colors is playing, and they don’t even notice but they’re grounding her with their firm grips and contagious enthusiasm. She jumps with them because she feels obligated to at first, but when Bow’s cracking tenor voice and Glimmer’s awful shrill one scream out the lyrics, her own pitchy one can’t help but join in, and soon she’s just as invested in the joy of this moment.

They calm a bit at the bridge, because they know it’s about her, so they’re all looking at each other holding hands as they sing the lyrics together.

  
  


_ You were blue and you liked me because I was red _

_ You touched me, and suddenly I was a lilac sky _

_ But the world decided purple just wasn't for us _

Adora feels her determination creep back in.  _ Then fuck the world--we’ll be purple in spite of it.  _

“Hey all you cool cats and kittens.” DT purrs as much as a lizard can into the microphone. Behind them, the stage is a flurry of activity as the crew moves things around. The platform the set rests on moves forward along with DT’s and everyone else. DT themself is standing at the edge of the stage and Catra has taken her mic with her to join them, at least temporarily--she leaves the stand. Risers are being pulled in and as much as Adora wants to figure out what’s going on, the audience is being addressed.

“Have you had a good time?”

_ Duh _ . Even without bias, this is easily the best concert Adora’s ever been to.

“Perfect.” They grin. “Nothing but the best for our guests, no, kitten?”

She slides into their side, throwing an arm over their shoulder. Or, well, trying to--DT is easily six feet tall and Catra’s maybe five and a half, but her arms slings over them as much as it can without bringing them down. “We aim to please.”

And wow that’s a  _ purr _ purr.

“Are you ready for the main course? Your filet mignon?”

_ Yes yes yes, let’s go! _ Damnit Kyle, now  _ Adora’s _ bouncing on her feet

“Kitten said we had something special for you and no doubt--we do.”

“And remember,” she breathes into her mic. “We do have dessert if you’ve saved room, but only if you ask nicely.” She winks before smoothing her facial expression, bringing something far more genuine forward. “But no joke, I’m really nervous for it--I’m gonna need my biggest support to carry me through. Think you can do that?”

“YESSSS!!!” Adora doesn’t think she’s been this loud since her team won the national title her senior year of college. 

Catra moves back to her spot on stage. When she’s there, she looks behind Rogelio for someone. A man in black gives her a thumbs up and she nods and  _ what the fuck _ when did a fucking  _ choir _ get out there? “But first thing’s first.”

The noise dies down a little and Catra breathes in, striking the first notes of the song on her guitar.  Green, orange, purple, and red lights cast out alone, one at a time

_ Gave it all to burn forever underneath the rain _

_ Drowning in the present of a past that I couldn't change _

_ Writing songs instead of letters because I'm too afraid _

_ Afraid of coming back to find that everything is the same _

Rogelio strikes his toms with purpose and the choir sings, Lonnie shouting out unclean vocals at times, bringing forth the green and purple.

_ Everything is the same _

Catra’s voice gains edge as things start to pick up. The lights have been slowly dancing across the stage--just a soft white--but they pick up the pace too, carrying over the choir and contrasting their black robes. The wristbands throb with Rogelio’s hits on the toms and the ballroom almost looks like a unified effort to communicate with morse code. 

_ I made my way through hell again, I paid for my mistakes _

_ Next time I think, I'll stay awhile and pour myself a drink _

_ When I return, I'll look for you, so listen for your name _

_ If you can make it out above the roaring of the flames _

The men of the choir join Lonnie in her vocals, the guttural unison stark against the women’s calm melody. After their last cry, the purple disappears. 

_ If it's the mask you want, then it's the mask that you will get _

_ But when I take it off, remember that you asked for this _

_ I tore myself apart to give you all that I could give _

_ Don't think that I will let it go, don't think that I'll forget _

_ I thought I wanted legacy, I thought I wanted fame _

_ I didn't know I'd lose all my loved ones in exchange _

_ Left 'em all behind, and, yeah, for that I am ashamed _

_ But that's the price I'm paying till I'm buried in my grave _

Intensity had been building, but it’s brought right back down to the ground again. The wristbands glow softer, having turned from white to an orange color that’s slowly darkening. The room twinkles like the building is full of fireflies.

_ Gave it all to burn forever underneath the rain _

_ Drowning in the present of a past that I couldn't change _

Rogelio hits his toms with force again before cutting completely out, leaving the vocals and the quiet chords of a guitar. The green fades with Rogelio, leaving the reddening orange as the solitary color.

_ Writing songs instead of letters because I'm too afraid _

_ Afraid of coming back to find that everything is the same _

The light slowly fades with the sung lines, casting the room in darkness as the voices cut out, leaving everyone in silence. Then, with the mighty effort of the choir coming forth, everything reaches its peak, red blazing out across the audience like a fire as single  green, orange, and purple lights are cast about. Over the course of a few seconds, the red becomes blue, and the red becomes singular like the others, leaving blue the color that beats across Adora’s wrist and bathing everything in front of her. 

_ I'll do it all over again from the start _

_ And this time you're not leaving me in the dark _

_ You took me for granted, now look where you are _

_ Atop of a kingdom you built out of cards _

Catra’s face is tight, angry as she belts out the lyrics, then echoes the choir as they sing the chorus again.

_ I thought I wanted legacy, I thought I wanted fame _

_ I didn't know I'd lose all my loved ones in exchange _

_ Left 'em all behind, and, yeah, for that I am ashamed _

_ But that's the price I'm paying till I'm buried in my grave _

_ I'll do it all over again from the start (I’ll do it again!) _

_ And this time you're not leaving me in the dark (I’ll do it again!) _

_ You took me for granted, now look where you are (I’ll do it again!) _

_ Atop of a kingdom you built out of cards _

The room is pure emotion as Catra waves to the crowd and the others exit the stage. Adora’s wrist thrums with the colors of the band--pink, green, purple, orange, red, and now  _ blue _ . Blue is  _ everywhere _ . It’s not just on the stage or in streaks; somehow the lights paints everything in sight blue, completely blanketing everything except for the soft, white light Catra stands in. 

Catra looks like she’s taking it all in, shyly smiling as the time ticks by while the ballroom practically riots. Adora can feel the ground underneath her rumble, hear the slight shaking of the chandelier from where it hangs, and feel herself become one with everyone else as she seems to melt her form and become this single unit to encourage Catra. The fans on the ground floor push the gate in front of the stage, but extra security has lined it, keeping everyone back. Glass breaks as bottles hit the floor, and it’s all starting to get a little crazy until Catra speaks again.

“Alright alright,  _ coño _ ,” she laughs, the room going back to the normal concert lighting. “Point taken. Now calm down and pick up your mess so you don’t make the clean-up crew hate their lives.”

Adora is actually shocked to see people doing exactly that.

“Wait,” Catra interjects, “don’t you drunken  _ pendejos  _ touch glass. You’ll fucking cut yourselves. Sober friends: please look out for the morons around you. Well,  _ dioses _ , I guess you can be sober and stupid too, oh  _ híjole _ , you know what I mean.” 

She looks frustrated with herself, continuing to curse in Spanish unabashedly as she watches the chaotic good of her well-meaning fans. When things settle, she addresses everyone again while the crew changes the stage around  _ again _ . “ _ Pendejos _ . Alright, in all seriousness, thank you all for being here tonight for this monstrosity of a concert. It’s really been a helluva time. I can’t imagine having done this anywhere else. Now,” she pauses. “I have an announcement before I give you guys your last surprise.”

And like that, the room hushes.

“Many of you know that there are two people who’ve influenced a lot of my lyrics.”

Adora gulps.

“One is rotting in prison and I will celebrate the day she dies,” she huffs out a laugh before sombering. “The other I miss every day of my life, just as I have for ten years now.”

Catra laughs again but it’s belied by her welling tears. “When someone is your  _ everything _ for your whole life and is then  _ gone _ , it’s hard. Like,  _ so  _ fucking hard.” 

Adora can’t help it when her body moves. She needs to get  _ down there _ , needs to be closer, but they won’t let people from the balconies onto the floor because of the better bar access, so  _ fuck _ . She looks around, ignoring her questioning roommates, before looking over the edge of the railing and looking  _ down _ .

And  _ perfect _ .

“I’ll find you after,” she says while jumping over the railing.

“Adora!”

The fall is barely ten or fifteen feet so it’s no sweat, but awkwardly landing on a table with occupied people and  _ drinks  _ on it makes for a really tense couple of seconds, so she rushes a quick “sorry!” before taking off, avoiding angry fans and security. Well, she’s still avoiding security, making her way down the sloped floor and digging herself through the crowd. A few are still looking for her, but she manages to make it within fifty feet of the stage before she hits a wall of interlocked people that wouldn’t even move for the  _ Pope _ . 

“So I wanted to announce that Kingdom of Cards will be the last song I write about the  _ bruja _ who was my foster mother, and this next song will be the last song about  _ her _ .”

Adora.

Who was now close enough that she could see without the cameras the different colors of her eyes--the eyes that haunt every one of her memories--the claws that cut her so many times as a kid on accident, and the lips, now blackened, that she imagined-- _ imagines-- _ so often in her dreams. 

“I decided if this was the last one about her--someone who was just so fucking  _ wonderful _ \--that it had to be epic. I told Kyle as much and he asked me this--how epic?” She stops and a smirk carefully takes over her face. “And I said Bohemian Rhapsody epic.”

The crowd’s cheering is  _ way _ different down here. In the balcony, Adora had the stability of her friends, the table, the railing--here, she’s on her own. But she’ll be damned if she lets anyone knock her over or push her further away, so she strengthens her stance and steels her resolve. She even puts on her determined face--the one that shows people she means business so they back off.

“Y’know, I’ve yet to hear a song that could be dubbed as the ‘modern version,’ which really is a shame.” She’s still smirking, teasing with her voice as the stage starts to move.

The choir is back on the risers, but she sees brass, woodwinds, stringed instruments coming out as well, sitting in a large arc that encapsulates the band.

_ Just what is this? _

“So I challenged myself with changing that. What better way to honor someone than with an epic dedicated  _ in their name _ ?”

A girl whispers next to her to her friend. “‘In their name?’ Like she’s going to tell us her name finally?!” 

And oof, Adora gulps, bringing her eyes back to Catra.

The Magicat slides her guitar around to rest at her back, looking to the band’s conductor. “Let me know if you think it’s worthy,” and she nods her head.

Seconds later, Adora can hear the plucking of strings and Catra’s voice, deep and warm, crooning.

_ I roam these halls _

_ Search the night _

_ In hopes that I may see _

_ A remnant trace, a glimpse of you _

_ I stare into the deep _

_ Singing, "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, _

_ I know my love can be" _

_ But deep stares back, speaks to me, _

_ "I know my love can be _

_ The killing kind" _

A single note chimes from a xylophone, and Catra presses on, voice getting a little higher as she continues her serenade and the instrument joins her again.

_ What if I was wrong by never moving on I _

_ Didn't realise who's gone _

_ The ghost in me was true but _

_ You were haunted too just _

_ Didn't see it all along _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ You should never be here _

_ I know, I know, I know, I know, I know _

_ I know my love can be _

_ The killing kind _

The strings have gotten louder and the choir joins momentarily, crescendoing during Catra’s last two lines before hitting a fortepiano and dropping off.

_ Here and now _

_ If this is it _

_ Can't get out from under it _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ My love is the killing kind _

The xylophone becomes stronger in volume now, too, accompanying the plucking and the choir as they continue their fortepianos. Into the next verse, the rest of the orchestra plays hushed quarter notes every other quarter rest, adding another layer to the slow build, and the verse after they, too, get louder.

_ There and then _

_ I should have known _

_ It was me, all along _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ My love is the killing kind _

_ My love is the killing kind _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

Adora is rooted to the floor, watching Catra in total awe as the song continues to layer and build in a way that leaves her shocked before they’ve even reached their peak, and  _ fuck, what will  _ that _ sound like? _

_ Try and try to let you go _

_ And I'll just disappear _

_ Go down below, where children go _

_ And we all float down here _

_ Singing, "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know _

_ I know my love can be" _

_ It gazes back, sings to me, _

_ "I know my love can be _

_ The killing kind" _

The wind instruments enter and mark the song in a way that says  _ here we go _ . The whole stage is at a medium volume, a swirling mix of action, harmony, and rhythm. Rogelio raps on his snare, winds play counter-melody, DT plays harmony on piano, the strings are playing a different harmony, and so is the choir, and everything is suddenly  _ moving _ .

_ What if I was wrong by never moving on I _

_ Didn't realise who's gone _

_ The ghost in me was true but _

_ You've been haunted too just _

_ Didn't see it all along _

The intensity is increasing and for another time that night, Adora finds herself  _ dying _ in the anticipation of it all, and they’re  _ so close _ .

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ You should never be here _

_ I know, I know, I know, I know, I know _

_ I know my love can be _

_ The killin _ g  _ kind _

And suddenly, they’ve reached it. The chaos smooths into order. Catra and the choir sing the same lyrics and behind them, everyone else plays every other quarter note, pushing the tempo.

_ Here and now _

_ If this is it _

_ Can't get out from under it _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ My love is the killing kind _

The strings bring back their earlier, plucking harmony and Rogelio joins with the booming of his toms and snare.

_ There and then _

_ I should have known _

_ It was me, all along _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ My love is the killing kind _

Kyle and Lonnie finally join in, adding more complexity to what’s becoming a new chaos.

_ Oh _

_ My love is the killing kind _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

_ Nevermore to leave here _

But suddenly, Catra growls her last note, letting it linger in the air as everything shifts again. The volume drops down as the symphony behind them builds with Rogelio’s heavy tom hits. DT comes in loudly with piano, fierce eighth notes making the hair on Adora’s arms rise. And then the winds race up the octave in ripping triplets and  _ fuck _ \--whatever it is is literally just about to happen but Adora is going fucking  _ nuts _ \--

Until she’s shocked back to her last year living with the Magicat before her.

She’s much smaller, having not yet filled out her lithe form, and has so much more hair. Everything about her is kind of wild, but she still has this grace about her as she’s yowling on the roof of the home, face scrunched in anger as she fails to do whatever it is she’s trying to do. 

Adora is leaning out of the window, watching her fondly. She doesn’t even have it in her to  _ tease _ \--just manages to be curious. “Heeey, Catra.” The other girl jumps. “Whatcha doin?”

She’s smoothing down the raised fur on her tail, pouting at her with her ears flat against her head.

Adora climbs out the window and sits next to her. The other girl looks in the opposite direction of her, but she just slides closer until their arms are touching. “Come on,” she laughs. “I won’t make fun. I just wanna know.”

Catra sighs, lazily lolling her head onto the shoulder near Adora and  _ wow, her face is so close _ and she’s making eye contact and  _ no! no blushing! _ The other girl smirks before turning her face forward, glowing in the setting sun. “Some day, I’m gonna figure out how to roar while I’m singing.”

Adora has to bite her lips not to laugh. “To  _ what _ now?”

Catra gives her a chastising look. “Ugh!  _ Híjole _ , I know it sounds dumb but you know that lion at the start of certain movies? The one that roars?”

“Yeah, what about it?”  _ Gosh, she’s so cute when she’s worked up. _

“I want to be able to do that while I’m singing.” She doesn’t pause, only shifts her tone of voice to something more agitated. “I know it sounds stupid but once I figure it out, music is officially my  _ bitch _ . I’ll be the Michael Jordan of the radio, the new fucking Apollo, and then it’s all over for the  _ putas _ who think they’re better than me.” 

And in present day, Adora feels like she’s been knocked out because there she is, claws extended as she grips the microphone and the stand viciously, fangs out like she’s snarling with an open mouth, absolutely  _ roaring  _ before heaving in a huge breath and doing it  _ again  _ but this time  _ higher _ , and it’s so wild and brutal it’s  _ feral _ \--no,  _ ferocious,  _ but Catra has complete control, and Adora’s body is numb but she knows she’s crying, head drowning in Catra’s intense passion.

Passion for  _ her _ .

And then Catra’s face smooths, the symphony playing delicately behind her as the music is now slower and softer while Catra croons. 

_ Stirs of whispers trail and linger _

_ You still haunt the corner of my heart _

_ Stirs of whispers trail and linger _

_ You still haunt the corners of my heart _

The xylophone chimes and the feeling of the music’s movement changes but everything follows Catra’s lead precisely.

_ Sing it for me, baby _

_ Singing me to sleep, singing, _

_ "Don't love the bottle, but the bottle loves me" _

_ One for the memory, two for the pain _

_ Singing, "don't love the bottle with the deeper disdain" _

Catra’s voice gets higher as the symphony breathes life behind the steady rhythm of her voice.

_ Sing it for me, baby _

_ Singing me to sleep, singing, _

_ "Don't love the bottle, but the bottle loves me" _

_ One for the memory, two for the pain _

_ Singing, "don't love the bottle with the deeper disdain" _

And then Kyle joins her singing, taking the lower harmony while she sings even higher.

_ Sing it for me, baby _

_ Singing me to sleep, singing, _

_ "Don't love the bottle, but the bottle loves me" _

_ One for the memory, two for the pain _

_ Singing, "don't love the bottle with the deeper disdain" _

And then Lonnie joins, and Catra goes even higher, intensity in her every detail, from her brows to her stretched lips, to the way she pulls the mic closer, body relaxed but grip tight.

The symphony echoes her passion, singing in a way that’s more akin to fucking  _ Holst _ than some metal song, but nonetheless, they sound as if this is a classic and damn,  _ maybe it will be _ . 

_ Sing it for me, baby _

_ Singing me to sleep, singing, _

_ "Don't love the bottle, but the bottle loves me" _

_ One for the memory, and hear the melody _

All but the strings and xylophone drop out but the intensity still lingers and only grows when the--wait _ , a theremin?!-- _ plays a countermelody to Catra’s serenade and Lonnie’s echo, the brass ending the verse with a flourish.

_ I think of you _

_ I dream of you _

_ Evermore _

Again, everything drops out, leaving Catra and the piano.

_ Hey, do you hear me? _

_ Do you hear me now? _

_ On a midnight dreary _

Then, low chords in the background with Kyle and Lonnie singing harmony.

_ Stay, stay near me _

_ Stay near me now _

The “now,” echoes out, being tossed around the choir before cutting off at a fortepiano. At the same time, Catra finally slides her guitar off her back and to her front. Rogelio then hits the snare, and Catra’s guitar cries out before accompanying Catra’s voice as it rips up the octave into another roar.

_ Oh-oh, yeah _

_ (Do you hear me?) Don't you hear me? _

_ (Do you) hear me now? _

She goes back and forth with the choir before the song is driving forward again and this time it sounds like its eyes are on the song’s climax, the one Adora’s heart begs for as she trembles slightly through the force of her spilling tears. Rogelio and the symphony push onward and Catra sounds so  _ pleading _ and  _ desperate _ that Adora can’t breathe.

_ If madness overtakes us both _

_ Then nobody would be alone _

_ The ghost of us can linger here _

_ Forever not to disappear _

_ Stay, stay near _

_ Yes--always, always _ , she wants to scream to her.

_ Oh, stay! _

Catra cries out the plea.

_ We could be together here _

_ Forever we’re _

_ Together bound in madness _

The symphony quietens and the theremin comes forward again, laying the foundation for Catra to once again rip her voice upwards and she does but she’s crying now too and  _ God, Catra I’m never leaving again _ .

_ Oh, here and now _

_ If this is it _

_ Why don't we just savor it _

The emotion in her voice is so much that Adora feels it tattoo onto her soul, Catra’s passion the needle and her heartache the ink.

_ Just hush _

Everything softens, Catra’s voice included.

_ Oh Adora, yeah! _

Catra’s guitar, the orchestra, the winds, all of it cries out with her while the choir cements the lyric again, almost as if to say  _ yes, this is for you. _

_ (Oh Adora) _

_ Stay! _

Catra roars out the final word with all the power of her body, all the hurt of the past, all the ache and burning of wanting  _ Adora _ so badly. For a moment, her cry is alone in its plea, but then the winds, strings, the band, her guitar, all of them are doubling down on her massive effort, tripling with the final rip of the french horns topping it all.

And then it's over, echoing through her body as the fans  _ erupt _ .

Everything is shaking.

Everything is moving.

Everything is chaos.

And it’s all for Catra, who did it all for  _ Adora _ .

Everything is madness, but all Adora can see through the raised arms of fans, blocking her view of the Magicat on stage, is them--Catra and Adora--as little kids.

Tiny Catra is crying on their bed, wrapped in their blanket, and she hisses when Adora lifts it from her head.

“Catra, it’s okay! It’s just me.” Tiny Adora slides next to her friend, eyes soft as the other wipes away her tears.

Even so young, Adora couldn’t stand to see Catra so sad, so tiny Adora consoles her. “It doesn’t matter what they do to us, y’know?” She touches her own chest. “You look out for me.” She puts her hand on Catra’s arm. “And I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other.”

Adora remembers tiny Catra’s voice better than her  _ own name _ as she asks back “you promise?” So small, so delicate, and so hopeful.

It’s been  _ ten years. _ Ten long, painful, shitty years, but Adora has tens more she’s determined to dedicate to Catra.

“I promise,” Adora whispers with her tiny self.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a lot, huh?
> 
> It's a beast so if you notice anything off, let me know--(nice) criticism is highly encouraged for this chapter especially!! I just don't want it to be boring or confusing ;(
> 
> Hoping updates will still happen once or twice a week but classes start up again soon and I kinda have to care about grad school hehe. Thank you all for reading and for being lovely :)


	10. Albums and Thaymor Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just music!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyoo,
> 
> Here's a compilation of Horde albums and their set list for the concert. There's also links to youtube playlists in here :)
> 
> Each song will have the original artist underneath.

ALBUM 1: Deathbeds https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAfRV9zJ3-anqTGUn8aG33fZ

1.) Blossom

Alazka

2.) Ghost of You

MCR, covered by CrazyEightyEight

3.) Let It Happen

Tame Impala covered by Northlane

4.) The Spaces In Between

How to Destroy Angels

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

5.) Memento Mori

Architects 

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

6.) Quantum Fluctuations

Northlane

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

7.) Nowhere Left to Sink

Like Moths to Flames

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

8.) Civil Isolation

While she Sleeps

9.) Duality

Slipknot covered by CrazyEightyEight

10.) Deathbeds

*BMTH

11.) Hospital for Souls

BMTH

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

12.) You Are We

While She Sleeps

13.) Doomsday

Architects 

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

14.) Machines

Crown the Empire

15.) Game of War

Of Mice & Men

(Hidden tracks:

Doomsday Reprise

Doomsday ft. Choir Noir)

ALBUM 2: What's Wrong https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAcL5ptyIwJ7ayqWEL554rpP

1.) The Kill

30 Seconds to Mars covered by CrazyEightyEight

2.) Like a Shadow

Holding Absence 

3.) Feel

While She Sleeps

4.) Whore

In This Moment

5.) Moonlit

Rivals

6.) What’s Wrong

PVRIS

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

7.) Cough Syrup

Young the Giant

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

8.) Never Let Go of the Mic.

Enter Shikari

9.) Myopia

Enter Shikari

10.) Dead End

Alazka

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

11.) Crawl

Bad Omens

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

Side note: In case any of you look into the bands behind some of these songs, I want to caution you for this band--I absolutely love them, but pretty much their entire first album and this song especially triggered a major depressive episode of mine awhile back, so be careful. Their second album is much less triggering.

12.) Man of the Year

Dance Gavin Dance

13.) Family First

Woe Is Me

ALBUM 3: Colors https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAfgbrHTD4usiSCCCFIPgPxO

1.) Mantra

BMTH

2.) Nihilist Blues

BMTH

3.) Steal the Sun

While She Sleeps

4.) Parasite Eve

BMTH

5.) sugar honey ice & tea

BMTH

6.) what i am

Crown the Empire

7.) 1-800

Logic covered by Our Last Night

8.) Alone in a Room

Asking Alexandria

9.) Colors

Halsey covered by CrazyEightyEight

10.) Hate Me

Blue October

*NOTE: THIS SONG MIGHT BE TRIGGERING

11.) Space Enough to Grow

Of Mice & Men

12.) Kingdom of Cards

Bad Omens

13.) If I’m There

Bad Omens

*I tried to mark the songs I thought had the highest potential to trigger people, but be warned that other songs have the same capability for different individuals. 

Thaymor Set: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLQ0jTC__CwAc8oKogHkHwuMRfjcx1p5h_

Mantra

Civil Isolation

Moonlit

Duality

Whore

You Are We

Ghost of You

Machines

The Flow of Emotions (by Yoni the Bassist)

Tendonitis (by Jason Richardson and Luke Holland)

Nihilist Blues

Myopia

Parasite Eve

What’s Wrong

Cough Syrup

Man of the Year

Family First

Space Enough to Grow

1-800

Catra and Kyle Guitar Battle (aka The Biggest Shred Collab Song in the World 3, Jared Dines) 

-Order of them playing:

C= Jared Dines

K= Angel Vivaldi

C= Nik Nocturnal

K= Become the Knight & Stevie T

SKIP Felix Martin :( sorry, couldn't justify the bass behemoth he's got but it's a hella wicked solo yo

C=Andy James & Ola Englund

K= Lucas Man

C=Rudy Ayoub

K= Matt Heafy

C= Sarah Longfield

K= Tosin Abasi

YOLO L= Davie504 (CHECKMATE)

C= Tim Henson & Ichika Nito

K= Stephen Taranto & Jason Richardson

C= Cole Rolland

K= Kiko Loureiro

C=The Dooo & Manual Gardner Fernandes

Steal the Sun

Like a Shadow

Alone in a Room

Colors

Kingdom of Cards

Encore: Killing Kind (Marianas Trench)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After ten years, Adora comes face to face with her old family and the one she could never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter? After the behemoth, no less?? Yes! Your eyes do not deceive you as somehow I've written the next chapter in a day because I'm an insomniac so time is a construct that I'm immune to. 
> 
> Highkey p happy with myself :)

“Adora! There you are.” The pink-haired girl immediately marches over and Adora smiles nervously. When the other is toe to toe with her, Adora gulps. “What the fuck was that!”

“You could’ve broken your _leg!_ ” Bow’s voice cracks on the last word. 

“Yeah, what if that happened? What were you going to say to Catra then? ‘Oh hey, you were pouring your heart out on stage about me so I decided to jump off the fucking _balcony?_ ” Glimmer throws her hands into the air, eyes wide and brow crinkled in a way that screams _your sheer level of stupidity shocks me_. 

Adora acts sheepish out of obligation, and yeah, she does feel bad for the sudden departure but she doesn’t regret getting closer to the stage one bit. “Sorry, I just--everything she was saying about me--I just had to be near her.”

Her friends soften at that, though Glimmer is still steaming a little bit. “Ugh, fine. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Adora smiles again. “Okay.”

Bow puts his hands on their shoulders, grinning wide. “Okay, but that _encore_ though.”

Glimmer squeals, totally giddy as she looks to Adora. “Fuuuck. That was crazy! _This_ is crazy!”

“Oh my gosh,” Bow swoons. “This is better than The Notebook. I can’t take it.”

Adora blushes. “Bow, this isn’t a romcom. You have no way of knowing if she’s gonna like me--" _damn her warming ears_ “--like that. And besides, you’re like one-hundred steps ahead. I still have to do the whole ‘hey, so I’m actually alive!’ thing.” The thought works her up and makes her deflate a little. She’s still determined but getting close to _actually_ confronting her is making her nauseous.

“Hey,” Glimmer gently grabs her hand. “It’s going to be okay, and either way, we’re here for you. You’re not alone.”

Adora nods, taking a moment to repeat “you’re not alone” out loud a few times before setting her shoulders back and head high in determination. “I’m not alone, I’ve got my best friends here, and I’m going to do this.”

“Yeah you are!” Glimmer beams at her. “Let’s go get the tiger, She-ra.”

“More like Puma.” 

The other girl is confused, but just says “sure, fine, _some_ type of cat” and moves them forward.

Finding the backstage entrance is not difficult--it’s at the end of the hallway that curves around the entire expanse of the ballroom’s eastern side. Actually _getting to it_ is the challenge with the throng of fans hoping for the off-chance of being let back. Adora watches as some girls and a guy try to flirt their way past the head security guard, but the lizard hybrid doesn’t even _flinch_. His red scales glow under the golden light, not shifting as the man in black stands stock still. _Fuck_ , Adora thinks he might not even be real as his unblinking eyes stare forward, but he moves _lightning fast_ when one of the girls tries to duck around him and try for the handle of the door. In seconds, she’s pushed back, he’s snapping his clawed fingers, and more security takes her--and the sulking friends that follow them--out of the hallway and presumably the building. 

“Don’t let go,” Adora commands. She grabs Glimmer’s hand and she in turn grabs Bow’s. Her grip is tight so she can only hope Glimmer is doing the same to him so they don’t get separated. 

The shoulders of the two people in front of her are touching and the second they shift, leaving a gap of a couple inches, Adora wedges her way through. Now with momentum, she doesn’t slow down; she doesn’t push people over but she _makes_ space between people to keep driving forward. A couple of people curse them--someone tries to push Glimmer when Adora moves too fast for them to get her, and Adora _swears_ the girl bit him. _It’s like earlier with Bow and the bad driver--she’s out for blood and there’s no stopping her now_. 

When they near the front, she’s tugged backward and sees someone bugging Bow like he’s some muscled jerk and not some sunflower and Terry Crews lovechild, and Adora has to deathgrip Glimmer’s hand before she can go feral, using her powerful thighs to rip them forward, knocking a few people off balance, but, well, _fuck em_ \--she’s too damn close to get cheated out of Catra. Adora uses the surge to her advantage--the people in front of her felt the movement behind them and duck out of the way when Adora comes trampling through like a rhino. Well, a rhino with guests.

Face to face with the hybrid who looks down at them with curious (?) eyes, she heaves some breaths before pulling out her pass. The others do the same. 

He seems to groan when he reads _press_ , but opens the door for them, growling at the few who try to sneak in behind them.

They don’t have time to adjust to the new lighting--or lack-there-of--before the door is slammed shut and they’re left mostly in darkness. 

And they just stand there in shock, looking at each other with eyes shaped like question marks.

“Welp,” Bow starts, chuckling awkwardly. “We’re here. Tadah?” He gives them half-hearted jazz hands.

Glimmer laughs and Adora rolls her eyes.

Adora looks around for a moment and decides to head toward the nearest light, hoping to either see something that says _hey, she’s this way_ or a person for her to question. When they’re under the light, she sees more and it looks like they're at the back half of the stage. She steps forward, goes about fifteen feet until she passes the edge of the curtain and _fuck that’s bright!_ Crew are on stage tearing down under the full light of the ballroom. She sees a purple-haired girl--wait, is her hair _prehensile?_ And wow, it must be because she’s using it to walk about, lifting her above and over the crew as she moves, holding and wrapping up maybe four different cords.

“Whaa, don’t touch that!” She squawks, rushing forward like a charging elephant, bundling the cords into her arms, and using her hair to propel her forward and rip panels of buttons, dials, and--is that a nametag?--away from some men.

“Ma’am, we were just putting your light board operators--”

“Her name is Darla and thank you but no thank you. She’s _veeery_ sensitive, so I’ll take her. You can finish wrapping these! Oh, and they’re color-coded by temperament so it’s _really_ important that you put them in the correctly colored containers otherwise we might have a Richard mixed up with an Olivia and it would be DISASTROUS!” Her voice flares out dramatically with her arms after she rapidly switches equipment with the men who stand in front of her a little stupefied.

“Uh--” one of them starts. “--yeah, you got it.”

Adora’s just about to walk forward to talk to her because she seems important, but Bow stops her. “Wait. Look,” and he gestures on the opposite side of the stage where a huge, muscular woman stands in front of a door. “That’s gotta be it. Who needs security for empty rooms lacking important people?”

She nods but Glimmer is already off so she follows.

When they stop in front of the woman, she doesn’t even look down--just sighs and cracks her neck. 

“I don’t know how you got back here but turn around and leave.”

“No, uh--” Bow fumbles around his pockets, “--we’ve got press passes!”

The woman just huffs, flexing the pink scarred skin over _massive_ muscles and _wow, how much does she bench--_

“Look,” Glimmer starts and _yikes_ , that’s her _don’t fuck with me_ voice. “We’re from Brightmoon Times and--”

“Don’t care. Only one backstage pass is scheduled today and you three don’t look like a fourteen-year-old cashing in their Make-A-Wish.” She crosses her arms and widens her stance, finally looking at them--well, _down._

And _oh no_ , Glimmer is _fuming_. “Listen here, scary security woman: save us both the trouble and just let us in.”

Scary woman exhales a laugh. “The only trouble is _you_. Get out of here.”

“Oh!” Bow butts in. “What if Adora arm wrestles you? She wins, we’re in; she loses, we go?” 

Adora facepalms. _Thanks for the vote of confidence, Bow, but her biceps are the size of my torso_. Sea Hawk must be rubbing off on him.

_Oof_ , and now she’s actually laughing, pearly whites peeking out and all. 

A crew member walks past with one of the sound monitors and the woman plucks it from his grip, telling him to “scram.” She places it on the floor in-between them and kneels down onto one knee, arm cocked and at the ready. “Well, blondie?” 

Her eyes are so _rude_ as they look her up and down. Like, Adora might be 5’10”, have muscles like Korra and the cockiness in her skill to match, but college soccer star “She-Ra” was looking at _She-Hulk_ and she was kind of _a lot_ out of her league. 

“Already pee your pants, kid?”

_But fuck this meat head she’s going to tear her own arm off if it means beating her_. In a flash, Adora’s on the floor, hand grasping the woman’s. “If I say yes, will you change my diaper?”

She snorts. “You looking for a Mommy, Kid?”

Adora smirks. “No, but I could be your Daddy.”

She-Hulk deadpans while Glimmer and Bow taunt her from behind Adora. “Suck it!” “In your face!”

“Whatever,” she growls but she still has a bemused look. 

“Okay,” Bow says. “On--like actually _on_ one. Ready?”

Adora melts down into her zone--the same place she went to when she scored every goal--channeling all her focus into the other’s eyes to show she means business and that even though She-Hulk was big, she should still be _scared_. 

“3, 2, _1!_ ”

And _crap_ , Adora is too young to have a _hernia_ , but every muscle in her body is invested in this, and it takes everything she has to keep their clasped hands stuck struggling in the middle.

“Let’s go Adora!”

“Yeah, you got this!”

“Kick her ass!”

“Woo, Huntara!”

She-Hulk--or, presumably, _Huntara_ \--jumps in surprise, losing her focus for a split second, but it’s all Adora needs to crush her fist onto the monitor.

Bow and Glimmer cheer and even though it was probably a fluke, Adora can’t help the cockiness that rises up from her core and onto her face.

The new-comer looks abashed from her seated spot on the floor. She’s rubbing the back of her head with a pincer and _Jesus_ , does Catra just surround herself with giants because this chick is also _She-Hulk material_ , and how the hell did she slip in without them noticing?

Huntara seems to be thinking the same thing, grumbling under her breath for losing. 

“Oh gosh, sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“I still messed you up though. I just wanted to cheer you on, too!” She sighs. “I guess I got carried away,” new-comer chuckles.

Huntara shakes her head but she’s smiling. “Don’t worry about it kid. And blondie?”

Adora gulps.

“You got lucky.”

“And you got owned!” Glimmer mocks.

Adora thinks Huntara is probably more mature than to fire back at her friend, but she doesn’t get the chance before Bow gasps.

“Wait, you’re Scorpia!”

Glimmer freezes. “Wait, yeah! Holy shit!”

Now-Scorpia blushes, standing to her full _fucking humunguous_ height, but her posture is soft as she clacks open and closed her pincers in embarrassment. “Oh wow. You know who I am?”

“Of _course_ we do!”

“You’re The Horde’s manager and you also help a lot with the Black Garnet! Didn’t your family help fund it? You are, like,” Glimmer pauses, “ _so_ cool.”

And now the hybrid is the same shade as her exoskeleton. “Jeeze, you’re so kind. That’s really nice of you to say--not a whole lot of fans notice.”

“We’re not fans!” Adora blurts out, then rushes to correct. “Well, yes, we are, but we have press passes and--”

Bow stops her by putting his hand on her back, preventing her from word vomiting everything over this poor woman. “And we were just trying to get back to speak with the band.”

“Oh!” The woman jumps in surprise. “Shoot, that’s right, from Brightmoon. Sorry Huntara, I don’t think I ever communicated that.”

Huntara snorts. “Didn’t end up mattering.”

Adora only feels moderately arrogant as she starts to sober at the realization that this door in front of them was about to _open_.

The security woman steps aside and Scorpia’s pincer awkwardly scrambles at the door knob, opening it for them. “Well, come on back! The band knows you’re coming so it shouldn’t surprise _them_ , at least.”

Glimmer grabs her hand like she already knows Adora’s feet have cemented into the ground and Bow pushes her gently, following in behind them, but Adora can’t hear _anything_ besides her heartbeat thundering in her ears and _okay, it’s okay, your friends are here, this is going to be fine, breathe in, 2, 3, 4, and out, 2, 3, 4._

And there they are.

Well, Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio, cuddled together on the couch as they relax. Rogelio’s in the middle, arms wrapped around the others, but Lonnie has Kyle’s hand in hers across the hybrid's lap. They’re all laughing, smiling, and Adora’s chest immediately finds a little bit of comfort to wash over her anxiety.

Lonnie is bringing a glass of water to her face when she casually looks over, spots Adora, and her eyes widen. The glass drops to the floor, shattering on impact, and the other two on the couch startle.

“Lonnie, what’s--” Kyle looks over and stops while Rogelio gasps.

The entire room is still.

Save for a very confused Scorpia.

“Um, I’m sorry, gosh I thought I told you that some Brightmoon people were coming to interview you all about--”

“Adora?”

Kyle’s voice is deeper, but almost as frail as his younger self.

Lonnie stands from the couch and walks over, stopping a few feet in front of her.

“Is it--are you--” Her brow furrows and her mouth stays agape, but the words don’t come.

Adora nods as tears begin to well. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know _anything_ , but if I did, I swear I--” but she doesn’t get to finish.

Rogelio has rushed over from the couch, lifting her into the air with his strong arms. Kyle and Lonnie stand shocked for a few more seconds, but they too rush over when Rogelio puts her down but doesn’t let up.

Adora squeezes back just as tightly. 

“Oh my god.”

“What the fuck.”

Rogelio’s strangely comforting reptilian purr.

“Jesus fucking--Adora how?” Lonnie whispers.

They don’t release her as she speaks. “I had _no idea_ that Weaver told you that I--I did that. I’m _so_ sorry. It’s a lot to explain, but I have an older brother who’s a lawyer who was able to track me down. He got me out of there so quickly that I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye and with the court case, I couldn’t have contact with anyone from the home and then you all left and I had no idea where you went and--”

“Wait. Was he the one who put Weaver in prison?” Kyle. 

Adora nods but realizes that they can’t see her. “Yeah, yeah that was him.”

“Jesus,” Lonnie whispers again.

Rogelio grunts in agreeance.

“I swear I didn’t know. If I did, case be damned, I would’ve tried to reach you, but--but--” and Adora can’t help but choke on sobs as the others hold her tighter.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault,” Lonnie soothes.

“We were just kids. It’s not like you did anything wrong or knew.” Kyle comforts.

Her heart swells like the grinch’s--not because she’s a grouch, but because time depriving her of her _people_ made it decrepit--once this shriveled mess and now something with more shape.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she cries softly because she can’t help but apologize when she regrets what happened so much.

“It’s okay,” they coo back.

Adora has found so much to love in the last ten years. Her education, her career, _so many_ great friends, especially the two that stand behind her, but this is the closest to home she’s felt in a very long time. It’s warm and inviting and understanding and it’s incomplete and confusing but _fuck_ , she loves these three even more than she did before she left.

It takes a while before any of them can calm enough to step back and give each other room again. When they do, she sees that all of them are crying but smiling so hard, just like her, and the moment is wonderful. She wants to take a video and place it in her heart so she’ll never forget it, not a single detail

Scorpia spooks and lets out an “eek!” when her phone goes off, playing the intro to I’ll Make a Man Out of You from Mulan. 

They all look over at her and she looks down, then back up.

“It’s Catra.”

And then slow panic breaks across their faces and suddenly Lonnie is shouting “oh, fuck, ugh shit, fuck, pick it up and put it on speaker!”

“Ah! Okay!” And Scorpia drags her nose across the screen to accept the call. “Hiyou’reonspeaker!” she shouts immediately and then winces.

The line is silent for a beat. “Uh,” a snort, “okay. Hey, I don’t have long--I left the kid with Entrapta for a moment and I’ve gotta get back with him before she breaks him or something, but can you bring me that guitar? He only really wanted to meet me so I thought I’d play for him and give it to him out here so the guys can handle the press and I can spend a little more time with him, if that’s alright?”

“Pffft, of course he wants to hang out with you! And you wanna hang out with him! You’re amazing! And kind! You’re the superstar of superstars! It’s the perfect wish! Like so cool, and--”

Lonnie speaks over Scorpia, who takes the moment to run out the door with a case. “Uh, yeah! That sounds fine with us--great, actually--just um, text us when you’re done and coming back, okay?”

The phone is silent for another beat. Adora thinks it would be longer but she hears a familiar “whaa!” in the background and Catra winces. “ _Híjole_ , you guys are weird but okay. Thank--whoa whoa whoa I am _not_ being sued for child endangerment!”

And the call ends. 

Kyle has his hands in his hair and his face is creased in stress. “Oh man. Shucks. How are we going to do this?”

“Ugh, damn that cat! I have _no idea_ how she’s going to handle this.” Lonnie growls in frustration.

“Um, what’s Wildcat going to handle?” Scorpia’s just come back into the room because apparently she’s not She-Hulk--she’s _The Flash_ \-- and looks innocent and well-meaning as she interrupts the frenzy with a raised pincer. 

Lonnie puts a hand on Adora’s shoulder. “This is _Adora_.”

“Nice to meet you Adora! I’m Scorpia!”

Lonnie facepalms. “No, listen to me: Catra’s gotta handle the fact that this is _Adora_ , here, alive, in-the-flesh.”

Scorpia looks completely blank-faced. “Sure, okay, okay, totally understand,” which is definitely a lie, but not a moment later, her brows ruffle and then slowly lift up. “Wait. Oh. _Ohhh_ , yeah _wow_ , this is entirely unpredictable.” 

“Maybe we can come up with a plan?” Bow chips in.

“How do we plan this!” Kyle squeaks. 

“Cross our fingers?”

“Glimmer, _so_ not helping.”

“Maybe we all sit in a circle and--wait that sounds like an intervention.”

“A reveal? Like, surprise, happy early birthday?”

“Scorpia, are you trying to give her a _heart attack?_ ”

“Oh, no, that’d be a very bad birthday gift. Wait! Hugs! She’ll knock on the door and I’ll immediately wrap her in one of my famous hugs and--”

“She’ll scratch your face off?”

“Yikes,” Kyle whines.

Adora stands there while they panic. She feels like a thousand needles are attacking her body, making every inch of her feel painful. They dig past the skin, through veins, hitting important things. She thinks maybe even _vital organs_ , but her hands flatten against her sternum in an effort to protect her heart as it so desperately wants to dust away the cobwebs and truly _beat_ again, but what if Catra shuns her? Lashes out, maybe hurts herself? Adora starts to hyperventilate at the thought.

Everyone is still arguing when the room starts to spin for her, but she doesn’t fall. _Fuck_ , she’s so _so_ dizzy, but strong, clawed hands hold her in place. A few more moments in her house of mirrors and a loud hiss interrupts the madness and draws Adora’s attention. 

Rogelio reaches behind them and grabs a chair, gently pushing Adora down into it. He stands next to her tall and confident, looking across the room, before he starts to sign to Adora.

_“Are you okay?”_

“Yes, I’m fine.” She sucks in a breath, then smiles at him. “Thanks.”

_“Always. Do your friends know sign-language?”_

“Crap, no, but I can interpret.” 

_“Good. Everyone shut the fuck up and listen.”_

Adora awkwardly speaks the words aloud to Glimmer and Bow, not having anticipated the harsh curse.

_“If we’re freaking out, she’s going to freak out. There’s no chance about it and it will be chaos, but that’s bullshit. It’s not fair to either Catra or Adora.”_

He turns toward Kyle and Lonnie. 

_“My loves, I know this just got sprung on us but we have to buck up. What’s between us and Adora is different between her and Catra. We’re lucky that we get time to absorb this but Catra won’t, so we have to put ourselves together for her. She’s been agonizing over her for ten years so she could easily go into a place that’s not healthy for her. No matter what happens, we have to be ready, okay?”_

“Okay,” they agree.

“I think,” Kyle starts, “that we should stay with her tonight.” He lowers his voice, though it doesn’t do much to prevent the others from hearing. “Maybe do that thing we did a while back when we locked her in the room with us and we took shifts to make sure she didn’t sneak out?”

Adora sombers, thinking of the possibilities of what the three were trying to prevent Catra from doing. 

“That’s a good idea. A good _plan_ ,” Lonnie says, nodding. “But for this?”

The room is quiet, save for the chime of a phone that follows--the end of the Spongebob theme song where he plays his nose like a flute.

“It’s Catra,” Scorpia confirms when she pulls the device out. “She’ll be here any second now.”

_“It’ll be okay.”_ Rogelio signs. _“This part might be hard, but this is a good thing. Just breathe.”_

_Yeah_ , Adora thinks. _Just breathe._

She stands from the chair, facing the door Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio are watching, and waits. She focuses on her breathing and just her breathing--the slow ins and the slows outs, the feel of her lungs inflating and deflating. No thoughts, no panicked _when is she gonna get here what am I gonna say what will she do_ \--just the sensation of the air. 

It’s harder when the door opens, but she still forces herself to concentrate, even with the sharp, stabbing feeling that cuts through her at the laughing, smiling _Catra_ who enters.

“Oh man, that kid learned so many Spanish curse words.” Catra cackles, stretching her arms above her head, tail lashing happily behind her. “I wonder how long it’ll take before I get a strongly worded letter from his mom.”

Her arms fall and her face is bemused, but her eyes are clearly tired--wait, but they’re _really_ tired, the bags blackening as the seconds pass and she relaxes, and now that Adora can see her much closer, she looks a little gaunt, a little pale. _Withdrawal?_ And then a realization that tries to break her heart, but she refuses to let it-- _that’s why they’re going to stay with her. They think she’s going to try for pills._

Catra opens her eyes after her stretch, looking like she expected some retort from Lonnie or to get chastised by Scorpia or _something_ , but her tail stops lashing when she recognizes the uncomfortable silence. Her smile fades to something of concern. “Is everything--”

Adora feels her soul leave her body.

It’s been ten years since she’s properly looked into those heterochromatic eyes, and she immediately starts crying through a slight smile.

“Hi, Catra.”

It feels so good to be able to say her name _to her_ again, but she can’t linger on it long because Catra’s about to react.

...

Right?

The Magicat is frozen to her spot, unmoving, unblinking as she stares at Adora. She’s almost a statue, but then seems to realize as much and shifts her posture. Uneasily, she crosses an arm over her chest to grab the other. Her ears flatten against her head but it almost looks like she’s trying to fight it and force them to face forward as they twitch, repeatedly adjusting position. 

Catra stills before looking around to see everyone looking at her and her best efforts betray her as she sinks into herself, ears flattening without resistance, and tail curling around her leg. And one by one, she looks to her friends--totally skipping over Bow and Glimmer. She finds their eyes, from Scorpia at Adora’s right, to Rogelio on her left, to Lonnie at his left, and to Kyle, who stands closest to her.

She seems to tremble and despite the numbness that blankets her features, her eyes actually look _afraid_ as they search Kyle’s for _something_.

He steps forward, slowly easing into her space. When he’s close enough, he moves to reach out and touch her but pauses and decides to flip his hand over in invitation instead. 

Catra stares at it for a while, but she eventually takes it before looking back to Kyle with the fear slowly creeping out onto her face.

_What is she afraid of?_

“Catra,” Kyle whispers softly. “It’s okay.”

She squeezes his hand, head tilting slightly as if to question if it really is. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats. “She’s really there. It’s really her.” He chokes when he adds “we see her too.”

Adora’s heart shatters.

Catra’s lip quivers as she tilts her head again, bringing it back as if to say _I don’t understand_ and _what’s happening_. 

“It’s okay, Wildcat.” Scorpia coos so softly despite her seemingly contrasting appearance but her face is kind and earnest.

Catra takes that in for a moment before Lonnie clears her throat and the Magicat’s eyes move to her. “She’s here.” She confirms, but bites her lip before she can say more as tears spill over her cheeks.

Rogelio moves forward slightly and Catra’s eyes shift again, watching him as he takes small, careful steps toward her left, standing beside her before gently taking her hand in his. 

Their eye contact is intense as Catra seems to search every bit of his face, question every scale, and both of their slitted irises regard each other before Rogelio moves again, oh so slowly, inching them forward. And Catra follows--gaze locked on him, his gaze locked on hers--as they near Adora. Kyle has brought their clasped hands to his chest and he’s hugging her forearm to him, and _god_ , she just looks so _confused_ and so _scared_ and Adora has to try her hardest not to break into sobs yet because _no, not yet--_ she has to hold her composure for Catra, too.

Rogelio stops, turning his body to face the space between the two girls. His gaze is still locked on hers as he moves his other hand to grab Adora’s before taking the hand that holds Catra’s and lovingly shifting them so that the girls’ hands are touching and his is encapsulating them.

It’s only at that moment that Catra spooks back into herself, Rogelio and Kyle stepping away, and she stares at Adora.

Her eyes are wide, revealing the entirety of her colored sclera--such beautiful, ocean waves under the dimming night sky, and gold like that of royal crowns or a rising phoenix as it takes flight. Her skin is darker under her fur, but her coat is still the same. There are some nicks across the skin of her face and a few particular rough marks--old scars--but it’s healthy. She looks hydrated, coat taken care of, short hair curling wildly at the nape of her neck, but it’s not unkempt. Her gaunt features and blackened eyes have sunken with her emotion, making her look almost haunted as her eyes look lostly into her own, but Adora loves everything about the girl in front of her.

She takes a risk by bringing her other hand up to the girl’s face. Catra flinches slightly, but mostly in shock and not in recoil, stilling when the hand rests and her thumb begins to rub back and forth. Adora takes the success and forces herself to count to ten before sliding her other fingers backward so that while she soothes the girl with her thumb, she can bury the fingers into her locks and even softly, barely scratch behind her ears.

The first scratch is what does it--what brings Catra crashing down back into her body, to this moment, and _reality_ , and it only takes a few seconds of a shuddering inhale for her to shoot forward, holding Adora tightly to her body.

Adora finally cracks and sobs with the girl in her arms, remembering every swollen emotion and feeling that made the foster house a _home_ , and feeling the blood finally rush through her rusted heart, beating as if it was new again while Catra’s hold taped the pieces of it back together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you all waited so patiently for.
> 
> The last thing I want to do is let you down after so much build-up so let me know--did it exceed your expectations? Anything less is unacceptable because you all are lovely and deserve nice things!
> 
> Also, this is a reminder that you are lovely and deserve nice things.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the concert and the reunion, Adora's mind is going haywire, and then so does the rest of her day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A softer chapter? In my fic? Pfft.
> 
> Get ready to transition to the road, y'all

Adora doesn’t sleep when they get home. Bow and Glimmer offer to stay with her, but she tells them to rest and that she’ll fall asleep eventually.

That was a lie.

But they probably knew that.

They were respectful of her, though, and gave her space, which is really what she needed. She needed to process because so much happened last night and, well, kind of today since it’s like 4 am, and even though she’s _exhausted_ her brain is _chaos_ . It’s like that quest in Skyrim where you need to go to the abandoned wing in the palace and find the dead dude’s hipbone but that ends up sending you into another realm that’s actually dead dude’s _mind_ and the Daedric Prince of Madness is like, “go do all these absurd tasks!” but all you can think about is that Mr. Crazy is literally surrounded by cheese and nearby dead dude’s anger, which manifests as a large version of himself, is beating the crap out of dead dude’s confidence, which _wow_ , what a mood, but trying to figure out how to get back to Solitude is like trying to get back to--well, somewhere that makes sense again to Adora?

She turns on her phone to check for the umpteenth time that the volume is on, all the way up, and that, no, she didn’t somehow not hear it go off and there’s actually a message waiting for her like _Catra’s on fire! Bring a bucket!_ \--she snorts--or _syke! We all actually hate you_ even though Rogelio would _never_ but--

Adora grabs her pillow and slams it down on her face to muffle herself when she screams. 

She just--having Catra again was incredible, so much better than her dreams, and though her heart aches with how hard the confrontation was, it’s also full and Adora just wants to hold her for the rest of eternity. She’s never cried so hard in her life but she hasn’t been that _happy_ in _years_. She can’t even remember the last time she felt joy so intensely. And God, who knows how long they just stood there like that--how much longer they would’ve _continued_ to stand like that, but Catra got sick. Like, _sick sick._

Rogelio said her last pill was the day before--that she got tired of waiting to stop before she went in for treatment, which was actually happening later today, but that also meant thirty hours had passed by the time of their reunion and she was starting to go into withdrawal. Catra is a heavy user--and Adora tries not to vomit at the thought--and because of that her symptoms are severe, but the way nausea suddenly overtook her, she collapsed to the floor, and Lonnie had to rush a bin under her mouth, already told Adora that. 

Still, in a weird way Adora was thankful she could be there because she was able to take care of her, if only for a bit. She pulled Catra’s unruly short hair back while she vomited and rubbed her back. She whispered soothing words, told her how proud of her she was for getting help. When the Magicat was done and too exhausted to move, Adora held her in her lap, brushing the bangs from her face and cleaning the mess from her fur. She even carried her to their van, buckling her in carefully and kissing the top of her head. Rogelio had tried to take the girl from her, but Adora refused to let her go so soon and she’s grateful he let her. While Adora carried her, Rogelio wrote his number on a piece of paper and told her to text him so they could reach her with updates.

So far there are none, which is probably a good thing, but the silence is making Adora’s head a hard place to live in right now.

She sits upright on her bed and folds her legs into a meditative position, placing her hands in her lap. _Just focus on your breathing. Everything is okay_. And she tries to--really tries--but the thoughts are coming from too many places and they’re too loud and--

Her alarm goes off and her focus immediately goes to it.

She just lets it ring, too tired to scramble, and she realizes that she’s whimpering. Swiftwind is crying softly at her door, scratching it with his paw. 

The bedroom air is stuffy and uncomfortable--dust doesn’t dance in the first trickles of morning light, but rather stays lifeless in her windowsill. Her fan isn’t on so it just stares at her unmoving from the ceiling. Nothing in her room is moving, which is probably a good thing because she’s the only living being in there right now, but it’s not exactly comfortable, so she sighs, grabs her phone, and gets out of bed.

Adora opens the door for Swifty before changing. He runs in, sniffing her body and licking her uncovered skin before settling down and sitting at her feet, all kind eyes and understanding. She smiles, giving the pooch a few scritches and he seems to melt, so she puts off getting ready to just sit with him for a bit. 

“Who’s a good boy,” she coos, watching his happy face get happier as he closes his eyes. With them closed, he looks a little more like a great dane, she thinks. When they’re open, he just seems like a giant lab, but his bulkiness and white color belie any question of pureness. _Nope, this baby is 100% a mutt_ , but as she wraps her arms around his neck, burying her face in his short--the hairs tickle her nose and she sneezes-- _is_ _h_ , smooth coat, she can’t help but think he’s still the best boy, even though literally every dog owner thinks that. 

Adora pouts when he wiggles out of her arms to stand by the door frame. When she continues to sit there and stare at him, he runs to get his leash, dropping it onto the carpet before _woofing_ softly.

“Fine,” she groans, continuing her verbal protests as she forces herself into running shorts and tennis shoes, though she refuses to give up the hoodie she slept in--just takes it off to put on a bra and throws it right back on. Swifty is watching, though, so she has a tank top on underneath; she doesn’t want him to think she’s being _too_ lazy. 

It must not be working because after feeding him and starting to mix her pre-workout, she peeks back over to see him giving her a look like _wow, so you’re gonna be like that today?_ before actually eating.

“Relax, _Adam_ ,” she snickers. 

The two were both like that--knowing when she was off her game and when she needed the push to get back on track, like when she got the call about her Brightmoon job. They were in the backyard, Adam playing fetch with Swiftwind while Adora watched, and her phone started to ring but she just stared at it, stunned with _holy shit_ -ness. Adam was throwing the ball when she shouted who it was, and though it sailed from the man’s hand, Swifty didn’t move--just looked at her with Adam as he laughed “well, pick it up! Really Adora?”

The memory makes her smile, so she grabs her phone to text him a quick _love you_ with the poop and corn emojis--corn because she does that every time she thinks one of her texts is corny, and poop because it’s _Adam_. 

Swifty gets done before her so she has to chug the rest of hers down, but he’s being patient, letting her do what she needs to do before the leash clicks onto his collar.

He’s also patient with her when she decides they’re going to walk instead of run. More physically intense activity could help ease some of her anxiety but it could also make her more _exhausted_ and still unable to go to sleep, leaving her susceptible to her thoughts. So, they’re going to walk, breathe in the fresh-ish (as much as you can get in Chicago) air, and enjoy watching the rest of the world wake up.

Adora does take their usual route though and Swifty seems pleased at that, especially because he can really pay attention to the ducks, squirrels, and people that pass by. He doesn’t go after them or anything but Adora thinks he likes to be able to observe them instead of ignore them like he’s trained to do. As hard as he was on her this morning, Adora gives him a pass and lets him enjoy his time. What else is she gonna do? There’s really no alternative--he’s a _dog_ ; she can’t be petty. That’s gotta be like animal cruelty or something. So they keep going at their leisurely pace, Swifty staring at whatever catches his eye, and Adora counting the different types of plant-life she sees. She’s barely gotten to double digits when she rounds the corner of the walk-way and is immediately hit on the head with something.

“Ow!” She yelps mostly out of surprise, hand flying to her forehead.

“No time for crying. You’re late!”

Adora removes her hand, brows furrowing as she recognizes the familiar voice. “Madame Razz?”

The old woman huffs in irritation. “No, _me llamo_ _Papá Noel_. Yes, dearie, it’s me!” 

Quickly, she grabs her hand and pulls her over to her shopping cart. Once there, Razz shoves her broom in and jumps on the frame in the back, riding the cart down the hill with the momentum of the push off. “Don’t just stand there-- _vamanos!_ ”

Adora jolts and they have to sprint to catch up. _God, is that thing motorized?_ The sidewalk has evened out but still Razz rips along the pavement, calling at people for them to get out of the way, lest she run them over. They’re almost out of the park by the time Adora catches up.

“Wait,” she sucks in a breath, “where are we going? _Why_ are we going?”

Razz clicks her tongue. “Have you forgotten? Today is a very important day. Today we’re making pie!”

Adora trips over a lift in the sidewalk that’s been shifted due to a tree root. She stumbles for several paces before Swifty stops, yanking her backward and preventing her from busting her face. “Wh--when did I agree to this?”

Madame Razz ignores her in favor of stopping at a crosswalk, humming to herself as they wait for the light to change. When it does, Adora isn’t ready for the old woman to Usain Bolt it down the street. It sends her reeling, scrambling again as the old lady flies parallel to the road, barely losing speed as she rips around corners.

Adora can tell they’re moving away from downtown toward the more residential area, but what’s the plan? Breaking and entering...and making pie? What’s the fine for something like that? Would there be jail time? Oh _God_ , Adora is gonna go to jail for this, isn’t she? 

She panics but nonetheless follows Razz. It doesn’t even occur to her that she can stop and turn around; there’s nothing forcing her to go. Anything and everything forcing her forward is intangible, but Adora’s already accepted her fate so she just runs faster. _Shoot, do they allow service dogs in prison?_ What would she do without Swiftwind? Die? Maybe.

Razz halts in front of her at a stoplight, giving Adora enough time to catch up. Thankfully, the old woman slows as they cross into a more secluded neighborhood with nicer-looking homes. There isn’t an apartment building in sight over here and everywhere Adora looks is money--money-bushes, money-yards, money-dogs, money-plastic-pink-flamingos--wait, really? Out here? Every other home has lush, small flower beds, heavy stone signs with the family name, garden gnomes probably worth more than Adora’s rent, but here’s this yard filled with an uncountable number of pink flamingos and twisted metal sculptures. 

It takes her a minute to look past the army of flamingos, but when she does she takes a closer look at the sculptures. Metal fairies and metal animals are scattered across the yard and Adora has to admit--they’re kind of cool. They don’t just look like what they’re intended to; they’re all embellished in some way with stuff like miscellaneous, broken pieces of glass, silverware, old license plates, more than a few street signs that look like they were _actually_ taken from streets (Adora notices several Wackers, Whipples, and Wabash-es). One fairy has its wings spread wide, looking up at the sky, but the wings are made of plastic kazoos instead of feathers or whatever fairy wings or made out of. Adora’s just started looking at a big cat made of guitar picks when Razz’s voice startles her.

“Very unique, yes?”

She laughs a little. “Uh, yeah. They’re actually pretty awesome.”

The old woman hums, pausing a moment before rushing the shopping cart up the driveway. “Look later. We’re making pie now.”

Adora has just barely started whining internally about getting arrested when Razz takes something out of her pocket and the garage door opens. 

_What?_

She takes a better look at the house to realize it’s actually made of shipping containers that’ve been stacked and spliced together into a multi-colored, misshapen home. Even the garage is a shipping container now that she looks at it. 

Adora walks up the driveway, looking into the space the Razz magically opened. Almost its entirety is covered in metal scrap and rusted buckets of sorted parts--soda cans, tooth brushes, even _gross_ , old flip flops. The old woman has unmasked her cart, stopping to pull a car bumper out of it before moving across the room past a _holy shit. Holy shit. Is that Black Widow’s motorcycle from Age of Ultron?_

Adora walks around it and sure as shit, _it’s a Harley Davidson Livewire._ Matte black with red trim, she almost combusts in the presence of a _God_. It’s sleek and sexy and the helmet on the seat has cat ears? But whatever, _this bike_ , what if she just--

Madame Razz smacks her with the end of the broom. “ _Serás_ _asesinato. ¡Me importa bien poco!”_

She pushes her toward a doorway that leads into the house and it makes Adora sweat. “Shouldn’t we knock? On the front door?”

Razz turns around to look at her blank-faced. “Why would we do that?” And she turns back to try for the handle. 

When it’s locked, Adora sighs in relief, but when Razz starts digging around in her bag, she gets nervous again. _Is this the breaking and entering part? Oh, crud, is she going to lockpick? Blow it down? Does she have_ explosives? _Shoot, maybe she has_ \--

Keys? On a purple, fuzzy keychain, going into the door, unlocking it, and stepping inside.

What?

“ _Abuelita_ , _¿eres tú?”_

_“Si mi querida.”_

Razz talks while she unlaces her worn, leather shoes. Using her old fingers, they slowly come undone.

_“Llegas tarde._ _¡_ _Híjole, h_ _e estado aquí por una hora!”_

_“Relájate, C’yra. Tenemos tiempo._ _¿_ _Pusiste la mantequilla en el congelador?”_

A sigh--it’s familiar, just like the voice. “ _Si, Abuelita.”_

_“Bueno._ Start pulling out what we need and we’ll start the crust.”

The old woman has finished removing the shoes, sliding her feet into fuzzy pink slippers before walking toward what appears to be the kitchen. She waves for Adora, who’s awkwardly holding Swiftwind’s leash, to follow. 

“Okay--wait, ‘we’ll’ start the crust? I can’t do both!”

Oh.

Swifty barks.

“What--” she starts but Razz has interrupted her and Adora has made it into the kitchen.

“Of course you can’t! Mara and I will do it.”

It only makes too much sense and yet none at all for Adora to immediately make eye contact with Catra. Catra, who’s wearing high waisted, distressed, black shorts, a cropped, sleeveless, yellow hoodie, no make-up, bangs pulled back into a poney-tail, and a shocked face that likely mirrors her own.

Both girls fumble for words.

“How--”

“Why--”

“ _Cállate,_ _queridas. Lávete las manos_.”

Razz pushes her to the sink before she can open her mouth again and she does as she was told. As she washes her hands, she glances over her shoulder to see Catra removing things from the cupboards but still looking at her. The Magicat’s eyebrows go up in question and Adora’s shoulders go up in response. Adora points her head down to Swifty to ask _what do I do with him?_ His leash is still looped over her arm as she rinses. 

Catra’s eye widen dramatically. “ _Mierda_ , that’s a big fucking _dog_.” 

“ _Hija_ , that’s not a nice name for Mara. Try again.”

Catra scowls at Razz, lips parted as she makes a snorting noise. “No, the drooling white thing.”

“Try--”

“ _Abuelita,_ _sabes lo que quiero decir. ¿Dónde debe ir el perro?”_

And Razz walks over to Adora, bends over, and unclips the leash. 

“ _Dondequiera_.”

Swifty walks over to the old woman and plops down at her feet.

_I guess we’re doing this, then._

“Mara, come here.”

Adora sets the leash on the counter, sighing but willing her brows to uncrinkle. _Just go with the flow_. She’s here and this might as well be happening. Plus she’s going to learn how to make pie? She likes pie, so why not.

Razz takes Adora’s hands and sets them on the food processor before she dumps flour into it. She literally just takes the bag and flips it upside down, the flour poofing slightly outward in a cloud that covers Adora’s hands. The bag is thrown onto the floor and then the woman, again not bothering with measuring, takes the lid off of the salt shaker and just pours some in. 

“Pulse,” she commands and Adora obliges. “That’s it. Now stick this thing in there.”

Some type of grater attachment? Whatever, Adora just takes off the lid and affixes it before Razz opens the freezer, grabs several sticks of butter, and moves to start shoving them into the grater while Adora starts the machine again. She’s so busy blindly doing whatever Razz wants that she doesn’t even notice the woman didn’t bother to take the wrapping off.

“ _Abuelita,_ wait.” Catra grabs her wrist, pulling the hand back before the first stick can start being shredded. She peels the wrapping off before handing it over, repeating the process until each stick is mixed in. Razz relents but she’s clearly focussing, not bothering to say anything but her commands to Adora and a few hums of acknowledgement. She makes one of those hums now as Catra takes the wrappers, picks up the empty bag from the floor, and throws them away. When the Magicat looks up, Adora raises an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth. Catra just snorts, shaking her head as she fills a cup with ice water.

In the meantime, Razz has thrown the mix into a bowl. “Mara, give this a toss. Make sure the _mantequilla_ is coated well.”

And Adora does and continues to mix after Catra places the ice water on the table, Razz dumping in spoonfuls occasionally. When the woman seems pleased, she throws some flour onto the table, shoos Adora’s hands, and dumps the bowl upside-down. She chides her to be gentle as the dough takes form. The woman splits the pile into three and Catra wraps them in plastic before placing them in the fridge.

“C’yra, clean this mess,” and Adora is surprised to see Catra--C’yra? Well, Razz did call her _Mara_ , so--do so without complaint. She doesn’t even look mildly annoyed, but more like she expected this, already a washrag in hand.

_Has she done this with Razz before?_

Adora doesn’t have time to contemplate the thought, as suddenly a bag is thrown into her arms. “Whoa,” because a few apples have spilled out and she has to fall onto her butt to make sure they don’t bust open onto the ground.

“Wash them,” Razz says from above, ignoring Adora’s whine, and pulling out another bowl.

She puts them into the sink and Catra walks over, standing next to her, making her heart stumble in her chest, but Razz whacks Adora’s hands when she runs an apple under the water.

“Not you. Get the knife.”

Adora looks around and when she can’t figure out where to look, Catra nudges her, pointing down the counter where a knife and cutting board wait patiently in the open. She mutters her thanks, bringing it closer to the sink, but Razz butts her way between the two as she pulls out a peeler, dragging its edge around an apple until its skin if off in one, long peel. 

“Cut the flesh off the core, Mara, and cut it into slices.” 

She has no idea what she’s doing, trying not to awkwardly fumble with the knife as the apple ends up in jagged slices of various thicknesses. Madame Razz is in the middle of gently saying, “no, not like that,” when Catra washes the last apple and appears at her side.

“Like this,” she says, and Adora can’t help but stare.

The girl’s hands delicately pick up the fruit, rotating the apple and cutting the flesh off until the core is left in a square shape. Catra takes a piece of flesh, flipping it so the flat side is on the bottom, and slowly brings the knife up and down over it, leaving neat, half-inch pieces. When she passes over the knife, Adora does well until she moves to cut the slices--Catra giggles at the way she uses the blade like a saw and Adora’s face definitely warms and the pleasant sound, not even listening when the other girl tells her what to do. When she remains frozen, Catra sighs, but not angrily, moving behind her and _yep,_ Adora’s on _fire_ when the Magicat brings her front slightly into her back, gently cupping her small hands over Adora’s much larger ones with her claws retracted. 

“Grasp the knife again.”

Adora grabs hold, feeling the steam rise from her face when Catra’s hands grip more onto hers. Adora’s left hand is prodded to hold the fruit, though the Magicat tucks her fingers back for her so that the tips are further in and the knuckles are facing outward. When she’s done, she moves her hand back to rest on Adora’s wrist. Her other hand grips around the base of Adora’s right one, moving it up so that the point of the knife is still down, but the back end of the knife lifts before sinking into the fruit, coming close to her knuckles but not grazing them.

“It’s more precise when you use it like this.” Then she taps her left hand. “So you don’t cut your fingers off.”

“Oh,” Adora supplies lamely. 

Catra hasn’t moved yet when she laughs, frame shaking in mirth, and Adora smiles shyly at the pleasure it gives her.

Adora is still staring at her as they finish making the pie fillings, and even when they lay the dough over the pie plates.

Catra still looks tired and gaunt (it’s barely been a day, after all) and probably a little worse, but even in the early stages of withdrawal she’s a sight for Adora’s sore eyes. The baby fat is gone from her face, leaving her features sharp and angular. Her frame is lithe but curvy, supporting lean muscles that look hard-earned. And most importantly, she seems _free_ \--guard down, happy to help Razz, seemingly unworried about making mistakes. She dances through the kitchen on soft feet, smiles easy and her voice is without the jagged edge from their youth, though the sarcasm is still ever-present. 

It’s nice, Adora thinks. She likes being here, even when Catra has to leave periodically, perhaps to sit down, perhaps to be sick in the bathroom, and maybe that part doesn’t make this scene particularly romantic or idyllic, but it’s reality and it shows Catra’s strength and how far she’s come without Adora, despite how much it hurt her doing so.

Adora swallows the guilt that rises, knowing it’s useless and flawed. 

But it does make her chest clench tightly and uncomfortably, and it seems it’s noticeably so when Razz is removing the pies from the oven to rest and Catra appears at her side. 

“Spill,” heterochromatic eyes command.

“What--”

They roll. “ _Id_ _iota_. Your thoughts are loud.”

That puts the needle through her balloon and she feels herself deflating. 

“I just--I missed you guys--I missed _you_ so much and I feel awful knowing what you went through without me there.”

She half expects the other girl to chastise her or tease her, yell some Rafiki shit about the past being in the past, maybe call her a few names in the spirit of getting her to feel less bad about herself, but she doesn’t expect her to sigh and remain quiet. It’s actually way more unnerving like this, but Catra’s face is contemplative so she forces herself to wait.

Swiftwind licks her pant leg and Adora realizes she’s bouncing her foot and stops, choosing unconsciously to put her hand in her hoodie pocket to run the smooth stone she always keeps on her between and under her fingers. 

“Do you hate me?” The question just blurts out of her mouth without thought and Adora immediately winces when Catra whips her head around to her, brows drawn together and eyes shimmering.

“What do you mean?” Catra searches her eyes and she has to force herself not to look away.

She gulps. “For--y’know.” Adora feels ashamed for not elaborating, but her throat starts to close up.

Catra looks down at her feet, chewing the inside of her mouth as she thinks.

“I used to. For a little while,” she admits.

Adora takes a mental step back. “I don’t understand.”

But Catra looks sad, eyes watering as she hugs her arms closely to herself. “There was a period of time after you disappeared, when I thought you’d done-- _that_ \--that I did. Hated you, I mean.”

The Magicat takes a large breath in. “I thought it was unfair. Suddenly, all your problems were gone but mine just became manifold. And I worked myself up, thinking it was the easy way out and that I was--” she laughs without humor, lifting and shaking her head. “I treated myself like such a _victim_. This poor little thing who’d been through so much that the world _owed_ her _everything_. I acted like pity was so _revolting_ but I gave myself more than anyone else.” 

Adora watches her struggle, fighting herself as her ears flatten against her head and tail curls around her leg to lift her eyes toward Adora’s.

“But I was so fucking _stupid_.”

Adora shakes her head. “No, don’t--”

Catra cuts her off. “Sorry, I know. ‘Don’t talk about yourself that way.’” She breathes in. “You’re right.”

Adora can’t remember once in their youth when she said those words without being bitter.

“But--ugh,” her nose crinkles and lips curl in disgust, revealing a canine. “I was an asswipe, Adora, and don’t say otherwise; even when you were still,” she uses air quotes, “‘alive,’ I guess, I treated you like you didn’t have to work hard for anything, that you were just handed stuff because you were the golden child, but you worked your _ass off_ while I spent most of my time all _oh, woe is me_ and tripping _myself_ , and--” her voice gets softer. “--I convinced myself that you had it easy when you had demons, too.”

The silence is thick between them, almost palpable. 

“I used to hate you but my attempt was kind of a reality check, I guess. Therapy made me admit a lot of shit and ignoring you in favor of my own self-loathing was one of them.” 

Her tails flick out, slowly gliding up Adora’s ankle and calf.

“I’m sorry for that. For being too self-absorbed to care about you the way you cared for me.” 

She hastily rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands, sniffling a few times before returning eye contact. 

“But I don’t hate you for having a life, if that’s what you mean. I know it probably wasn’t easy for you. I had the others, but you were on your own, and--to be entirely honest--” Her tail wraps around Adora’s ankle. “I’m just glad you’ve made a life, even if it was without me, because that means you’re not--” she waves her hand in the air. “--y’know.” 

Adora processes slowly. Her sight moves down, remarking the stripes that line her exposed arms, the thin, silky fur, and the scars that seem much more noticeable under her close, intent gaze. The more she counts, the more she frowns. Her stare regards the thicker trail of hair in the middle of her stomach, purposely gliding over to her side to find what Bow demonstrated for her days ago. Without thought, she steps forward, ignores Catra’s curious glance, and lifts the band of the hoodie that fits a little loosely around her middle.

Catra gasps, but there it is--about an inch or so, like a coin slot, but all it bought was pain and cruelty. Adora can’t help but rub her thumb against the spot and imagine the horror Catra must’ve felt, connected to that _wretched_ woman with the knife between them. It’s like looking at the product of one of Adora’s nightmares--ones she had so often when they were younger, ones that taunted her for weeks after moving with Adam, waking her screaming the Magicat’s name. Her brother would come to her each time and wrap her in his arms without the awkwardness that was pervasive during their first few months. It was comforting--sweet in hindsight how much he tried--but yet it wasn’t, knowing she couldn’t be there to protect her friend.

Adora doesn’t know what to say and neither does Catra, apparently, so they just stand there awhile like that, Adora thinking without words, just _feelings_ while Catra remains still under her. 

It surprises her when the Magicat breaks the silence. 

“Have you written that article?”

Adora stops moving her thumb but doesn’t remove it. Instead, she rests her fingertips lightly against the other’s fur. “You know about that?”

“Scorpia told us about the Brightmoon interview that I guess you were supposed to do.” She responds simply.

“Oh,” is all Adora can manage.

A pause, then “she also told us about the tour thing. Joining us.”

Adora lifts her gaze to meet Catra’s but can’t read it and it frustrates her. “She did?”

Catra nods. “I--uh,” she licks her lips. “I haven’t talked to the others much about it--it was just a brief conversation--but, um, if it was you, I think we’d be interested.” Her voice is soft, then gets a little edgier as she adds “it might be for mostly self-serving reasons though. Like, publicity is great and all but it’s not really about that. Or the band. Not for us at least.”

“Oh.” 

_C’mon Adora, you can do better than that._

“I mean--uh, yeah. That’s the plan--er, hope. That I can join you guys along with a couple others to film. They’re friends of mine, actually. You kind of met them? After the concert…” Adora feels her nervousness spike and words flood out. “They’re really big fans. Huge, really, like they know all your songs and about you guys and they think you’re like amazing and stuff and they’re really good people and I think they have crushes on you--”

“Adora,” Catra stops her, chuckling softly. “Just,” she looks around for a bit before walking over to the nearby coffee table and grabbing something.

When Catra walks back over, she politely holds out her hand. Adora is confused but grasps it back, only for hers to be turned over and her sleeve rolled up, revealing the skin of her forearm, which awkwardly is covered in notes she scribbled down earlier this morning for her article, so she grins sheepishly. Catra just clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, finding a clearer spot closer to the nook of her elbow and writes down a set of numbers. 

“That’s Scorpia’s number. You can contact her for questions about the article. Rogelio gave you his number?”

“Uh, yeah,” Adora confirms.

“Then you can talk to him about the tour stuff since I’ll be, y’know.”

Adora nods once, then starts nodding rapidly because _wait, this is actually going to happen isn’t it?_ and she can’t help the excited smile that grows across her face. “Yeah, I will, definitely, for sure. Like, wow _of course_.”

Catra snorts before pulling her keys out of her pocket. “Okay dork. I’ve gotta go, uh, check in, so--” she’s still holding her hand and she squeezes it. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yes,” the answer rushes out of Adora. “ _Yes._ ”

She watches as Catra hugs Razz goodbye--so they’re _really_ familiar--and waves slightly when the girl pulls on her helmet and backs out of the driveway. Adora still waves when Catra rockets down the street and out of sight. She only stops when Razz’s sudden appearance at her side causes her to jump.

The old woman reaches into her hoodie and pulls out her cellphone, thrusting it into her hands. “What are you waiting for?” She taps the contact Catra wrote down on her arm. “Get busy, _hija!_ ”

And an hour later, she’s stuffing her face with pie, working out the details in a four way call with Scorpia, Rogelio, Glimmer, and herself.

Adora absolutely freaks out the entire time, spitting pie everywhere as she rushes through her thoughts and ideas, at times choking on her fork, but she can’t help it; this is the chance of a lifetime for so many reasons and she’ll be _damned_ if she fucks it up. Her chest thrums pleasantly as she negotiates with the group, then pounds as she starts writing her article.

  
  


_If you don’t know who The Horde are yet, you’re about to._

_Get ready, Etheria,_ she writes, _because their army is about to take over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how happy I am with this one. Maybe I'm just in a mood but it seems kinda boring to me. Is it boring? Let me know so I can mark it for future edits if needed :)
> 
> Also, the Spanish isn't translated because this is in Adora's POV and she doesn't know Spanish so she wouldn't know what's going on! 
> 
> For those curious, basically what's said is Razz joking she's not Razz--she's Santa--and chastising Adora for trying to touch the bike because she will be MURDERED, Catra complaining that Razz is late, Razz telling her to chill out, and Catra whining when Razz is giving her shit about the dog hehe.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Best Friend Squad is packed and ready for adventure! Right, Adora? Well, almost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anyone say "bonding time?" 
> 
> Welcome to the first episode of Rogelio Rights. My boy is saying some real shit in the show--I just know it. It's a good thing Adora can communicate in this fic! Gorl needs help lol

**_Music’s Upcoming_ ** **_Coup D'état: Who Are The Horde and Why Are They About to Dominate?_ **

_Metal’s biggest stars are about to become household names._

_Who are they, why are they claiming thrones cross-genre,_

_and why should you care?_

By: Adora Greyskull April 11th, 2020

  
  
  


If you don’t know who The Horde are yet, you’re about to. 

Get ready, Etheria, because their army is about to take over.

There’s no need to fear our new music overlords, though--they come in peace with lyrics that hit hard, inspire, and uplift, instrumental talents that you’ll be salivating over, and kindness that rivals that of Mother Teresa with the unassuming, genuineness of Keanu Reeves. 

What’s most shocking is that while this occupation should be jarring and perhaps over-dramatic, given how everything you’ve just read sounds like a hand-written monologue from a dedicated, sheltered high school drama kid, it’s not. Whether you realize it or not, their roots have already grown and spread into an impressive system.

How do I know this? And what else do I know?

For one, I know that you know the song Colors from their recent, likewise-titled album. I know you’ve heard it, and that you _like_ it. I know you’ve probably hummed along to it, gotten it stuck in your head, or straight-up belted it out as the show-stopper of your shower concerts. I know that if Colors wasn’t your introduction to the band, it was likely the hard-hitting rawness of their first album, Deathbeds, that hooked you, or the passion and open pain of their second album, What’s Wrong.

Yes? For a lot of you, I’ve probably nailed it, but there are many of you who got your introduction another way, a way that changed music, its content, and its impact forever:

1-800-273-8255. 

The song that caused a 33% spike in calls to the U.S. National Suicide Hotline. The song that helped promote actually talking about mental health and suicide--topics we’ve avoided for _centuries_ , busted open…

By a metal band?

But if the success of the suicide hotline song hints at anything, it hints that this group isn’t _“just”_ a band. 

Formed in 2017, The Horde is made of members who have the backgrounds of victims you’d expect to see on crime shows like Law and Order and CSI--a negligent foster care system, abuse, trauma, homophobia, racism, poverty, homelessness, physical violence, drug addiction _and_ recovery, and yes, a suicide attempt _and_ recovery. Yet, there is one key distinction: these individuals are anything but victims.

No, The Horde is made of people who strive to be anything but. These band members are family and heroes--to each other and to the many. They’ve supported one another in getting help just like they’ve supported thousands: with kind words and helping them access the resources they need.

You read that right-- _access_. The Horde has been a major funder for its own charity, The Black Garnet Institute, since late 2017 when the band started seeing spikes in their success. Originally geared toward supporting foster kids as they transitioned into adulthood, escaped abusive homes, or sought legal help, the charity has been helping people since the band was basically _founded_ , only expanding as the years passed. In 2018, after lead singer and guitarist, Catra, survived her own suicide attempt, she spearheaded adding onto the charity, redubbing it the Black Garnet Institute for Fostered and Suicidal Youth as she went through her own therapy and recovery. 

It might not be surprising, therefore, to read that when they aren’t on the road or in the studio, they’re likely at the Institute.

And when they’re not there?

They’re volunteering at soup kitchens and after school programs, speaking at Suicide Prevention Fundraisers and Pride events, and standing up for social change (some members are even rumored to have lead the charge in several major protests in the states). 

Sounds too good to be true, huh?

Maybe that’s the craziest thing about them, because surely they’ve been lying on their resume...right?

What band can not _boast_ , but _humbly_ claim such positive influence while receiving awards like Rolling Stone’s Band of the Year 2020, MTV’s Best New Artist 2018, Best Rock Artist 2018-2020, Best Song 2019 and 2020, not the mention People’s Choice awards, Billboard Music awards, Grammys (count ‘em--they have _five_ from the past two years), and to cut this growing list short and top it all off, a recent _Pulitzer Prize_? 

No other band?

Surely something’s fishy, but yet in the aftermath of the best concert I’ve seen in my life, live at the Thaymor yesterday--shredding guitars, diverse and complex melodies, a carefully planned and brilliantly executed show, and the debuting of what they’ve most appropriately dubbed the “modern bohemian rhapsody”--I can’t help but find no evidence to say they’re anything other than exactly what we’ve seen.

What’s infuriating?

They’re only just getting started.

At the end of next month after their lead vocalist finishes rehab--a process she’s been speaking up about to encourage more addicts to pursue--the band is headlining their first national tour, and tickets are selling out.

Trust me; you want to be there. But if you’re hungry for more Horde content while you impatiently wait, you need look no further from their official handles than Brightmoon Music--

Because I’ll be joining them, so stay tuned: the time for revolution is upon us and The Horde is ready and eager to lead us forward.

  
  
  
  


“Glimmer, there’s no way--”

“Yes, there is! Just watch.”

For about the umpteenth time, Glimmer hefts Bow’s bag onto her shoulder and tries to ram it into her Kia Soul. It’s not going to fit--both Adora and Bow know this, but Glimmer refuses to take a second vehicle or unload and let the others re-jenga the luggage because “there’s some room up top!”

Yeah, _some_. A thin crack of space near the roof of the vehicle. The back window is completely blocked so Bow’s worried about the toaster’s blindspots, and with every inch of the vehicle--roof included--being utilized for transporting this stuff, Adora doesn’t think there’s even room for _them_ at this point.

Even if they limited themselves to one suitcase each, it would’ve been a stretch, but all three had one large one, but Bow also brought a bag, Adora’s utilizing a carry-on and her backpack, and Glimmer has _another_ massive case (which would’ve been three if not for Bow’s intervention), not to mention her backpack, bag, and Bow’s two camera bags. There’s not even anything wrong with taking a second car save for the fact that it would hurt Glimmer’s stubborn _pride_. Yet, the sparkly girl refuses to give up so there they stand, the poor Kia transformed into a mountain, crying under the weight it was never meant to carry, and Glimmer shouting curses as if they didn’t have neighbors with ears. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Someone shouts from a window.

“Suck my dick!” Because Glimmer is nothing but determined and angry, so why would she respond any different?

Bow whines and Adora rubs her temples. 

Sneakily, she pulls out her phone, hoping for an update before realization dawns on her tiny, fuming friend and she gets an earful.

Scorpia: Pulling in now! Where are you guys?

Adora: Thank god. We’re at the front of the lot at the back of the building. Warning: Glimmer’s in a mood.

Scorpia: Okie dokie! And no worries. She won’t bother me!

Adora cringes. _Bet._

Glimmer’s recent push has just resulted in multiple bags falling out of the trunk and she’s groaning loudly when the van pulls up.

“Hi guys!” Scorpia pops out of the vehicle excitedly, bouncing with each step.

Glimmer reels around to glare at her friends. “What is she doing here.” A statement, not a question, and _definitely_ a deadly one.

Bow gulps and Adora’s back straightens, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Oh boy, you guys sure have a lot of stuff!” The scorpion hybrid comments, immune to the negativity. “But don’t worry; we’ll figure it out!” 

Scorpia beams a toothy smile, face reddened slightly in happiness. She makes a wide stance, putting her pincers on her hips before looking over to Adora.

“Adora, how about we load your stuff into the van first since we’ll be on the same bus?”

Immediately, Adora feels the burning gaze of Glimmer melting her face. She ignores her as she starts to sweat, trying to give a convincing smile back to Scorpia but failing, not that the other girl notices. “Sounds great!”

In an effort to relax Glimmer, she makes it a point to go back inside and get Swiftwind’s things to load first. She hadn’t even brought that down yet and the Kia was a disaster, but there was no breaking through to get that across so she kind of called Scorpia? 

_Oh well. She’ll forget about it. Eventually._

Once they’ve got his food bin and bag in, they pull the luggage out of Glimmer’s car while she stands there, glaring. It doesn’t take long to load her things and they even manage to fit Bow’s stuff and one of Glimmer’s suitcases, as well, leaving the other car much less a disaster.

Bow whispers gratefully to Adora. “Thank _God_. Now we can get there without being broadsided in traffic and like _ruined_.”

Swiftwind barks when the other two girls approach them.

“So are you going to head over with them or do you need a ride, too?” The hybrid asks.

Adora, again, avoids Glimmer’s glare, but she doesn’t want Scorpia to have to drive alone since she came out here just to help. “We’ve got some things to talk about on the way, but if you want company I’m sure Swifty but be glad to hang out.”

Her eyes brighten while her smile stretches impossibly wider. “Oh, boy! That’d be great! Let’s get this big guy in and you can follow me the way there.”

After Adora buckles his doggy seat belt, she jogs over to the Kia and hops in the back seat. Scorpia waits a few minutes to make sure they’re settled and ready to go. Once Bow sticks his hand out of his window and gives her a thumbs up, she gently pulls around them and they head after her.

Glimmer is still a little grumpy but as excitement overtakes them all, it washes away.

“I can’t believe this is happening. It feels like one moment we were admiring the Magicat goddess from afar, and now we’re suddenly going on _tour_ with the Horde _and_ our best friends!” Bow squeals. 

“It really did happen quickly,” Glimmer agrees, face softening into her normal countenance. She flicks her gaze up in the rearview mirror. “You’re lucky you’re you, Adora.”

Adora startles from looking out her window. “Why’s that?”

“Because if you were anyone else, I’d throw a fucking _fit_ about you being on their bus and not me.”

Adora chuckles under her breath. 

She _was_ lucky. 

The plan had been for the three of them to join Dragon’s Daughter on the old school bus Sea Hawk bought and gutted. Blow up mattresses and zero privacy wasn’t exactly Adora’s idea of a good time but she loved them all and wasn’t going to pass the opportunity, so you gotta do what you gotta do. 

She wasn’t expecting Lonnie to be so _sad_ when she casually mentioned her plans. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio had assumed they’d be on their bus so they all could catch up. Honestly, Adora hadn’t even thought about it; she didn’t want to intrude. But Lonnie didn’t waste any time and immediately put the offer out there and who was she to say no? She’d missed them too, so it wasn’t like the feeling was one-sided.

And now she’s about to spend just under three months with them in close quarters, but she’s not complaining--to be entirely honest, she couldn’t be more _excited_.

“Just don’t forget you’re on assignment, missy.” Bow’s turned around in his seat, waggling his finger at Adora like some dusty, old school teacher.

She just rolls her eyes. Like she would ever forget her job.

“As if Adora could stop working,” Glimmer snorts from the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Adora pouts as if she hadn’t just been thinking the same thing.

“What? It’s true,” the sparkly girl defends. “As your boss, uh _yeah_ , do your job, but as your best friend, have fun! Catch up!”

Bow jumps in, fervent with the intensity of his excitement. “Rekindle old flames!” 

He’s pushed his way further into the back seat, putting his face close to hers. Adora laughs and pushes him back into his own space. 

“Would you stop with that?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Impossible. This is literally writing itself _so_ well--Nicholas Sparks could _never_.” 

She groans in mock disdain, thumping her head onto the doorframe. 

A few beats pass before he speaks again. “Hey Adora?”

She turns back toward his face. “Yeah, Bow?”

“Is that what you want?”

Adora’s brows furrow. “What do you mean.”

Bow sighs, simmering down in his previous excitement to something more serious. “Do you want that with Catra? Like you did when you were younger?”

Now it’s her turn to sigh. She puts her forehead to the glass, feeling the vibrations from the moving vehicle. Shapes blur in her eyesight into meaningless colors as she focuses on nothing. _Already with the hard questions_. Her teeth bite into her cheek.

“I don’t know,” Adora admits. “It’s been ten _years_. We’re completely different people.”

“Completely?” Glimmer questions.

She brings her head back around, staring at the back of her pinkish-purple head while she thinks. “Well, I guess not completely. We’ve just grown, I suppose.” She crosses her arms, starting to rake her nails over the skin. “A lot has happened. The attraction is still there. For me, I mean. I don’t think I could ever stop loving her, but it’s not that simple.” 

Adora sighs again and throws her hands up in the air, gesticulating. “It’s not as easy as just reviving what was there. We’ve got to start from scratch, re-learn each other. I don’t know if that was something she’d even wanted back then, nonetheless _now_ , and there’s so much more baggage now.”

“But that’s still what you want. You want that with Catra,” Bow states.

Adora huffs out a laugh. _He knows me too well_. “I say all that but yeah, yeah I do.” Her voice quietens. “I knew the second I saw her again.” 

The car is silent as Bow grabs her hand, pulling it between him and Glimmer so she can grab it too. It’s comforting enough that her heart doesn’t stutter too badly when they follow Scorpia’s van through a neighborhood.

“What kind of house do you think they have?” She questions, eager for a subject change.

Bow squeezes her hand, knowing. “I bet it’s _huge_. And modern. Definitely chic.”

Glimmer nods. “It’s probably a goddamn mansion. Maybe one of the more classic types? Oh, maybe they have a _fountain_ _!_ "

Bow gasps. “And shrubs in the shape of animals!”

Adora laughs. “Maybe they have a garage full of sports cars.” She snorts. “Fuck, they probably have a _spaceship_.”

Bow inhales dramatically, eyes going wide as Glimmer rolls her own. “I bet it has leather seats!”

“Bow, why would they have a spaceship _without_ leather seats?”

“To save money?”

“They’re, like, the most famous band in the _world_. I don’t think money’s a problem,” Glimmer guffaws. 

The noise is sudden and unflattering, coming unfiltered out of her mouth as some sort of hiccup-laugh hybrid that’s anything but cute, but it’s _hilarious_ in how ugly it is, so Adora and Bow howl, tears coming out of their eyes as the vehicle pulls up a driveway. 

“Oh shut up,” the sparkly girl groans. “It wasn’t even that bad. And look,” she interjects, eager for them to leave her alone, “it’s their house.”

Adora looks up and she’s genuinely surprised.

It’s a house.

Literally, just a house.

Aside from the trash sculptures--trees that make a forest of their yard a la Razz, she presumes--it’s completely normal in the idealistic family home type of way, all the way down to the picket white fence. It’s large, for sure--two, maybe three stories with a big connecting garage. The house is a light gray with white and brick highlights and it has a red door. The grass is green, immaculately kept along with the flower beds that line the long driveway. Actually, there are a _lot_ of flowers and plants now that Adora notices--in front of the house, on the porch, in the windowsills. It’s a little overbearing but it’s also kind of nice. 

“Huh,” Bow remarks and Adora agrees.

As they pull further up, Rogelio waves at them and gestures for the car to follow. Scorpia has pulled next to one of the buses, but the lizard hybrid gestures them into the garage to park in one of the blocked off spots. There are spots for a few more vehicles too, but most are empty save for the newer, silver Dodge Ram, new, orange Corvette, old, rusted, yellow Chevy pickup, and a red Jeep Wrangler. The middle obviously has space for the buses, but the other end is full of tools, gardening equipment, and car stuff. A few cars are pulled apart--or being put together--including a vintage vw beetle, 50’s Dawn Drophead, and--Adora gets out of the car and takes a few steps closer to get a better look. Rogelio appears at her side.

“ _Lonnie’s toys,_ ” he signs. “ _The one on the lift is a 1968 Chevelle._ ”

Adora nods, grinning at him. “ _And who’s the gardener? The flowers and shit are lovely._ ”

" _That would be Kyle and I. I can’t speak for him but I find it relaxing. I tend to the flowers mostly and Kyle spends most of his time on the vegetable garden in the back._ ”

Adora smiles wider at the thought of big, buff Rogelio planting daisies, knowing he’s damn good at it and probably very patient and attentive, too. _He and Bow should make a destroying toxic-masculinity club._

When Bow and Glimmer walk over, she starts to translate out loud while Rogelio signs. “So how many of you all live here?”

“ _It’s just Catra, Kyle, Lonnie and I. DT has a townhouse downtown and Scorpia shares a place with Entrapta and Emily, who’ll you’ll meet soon if you haven’t already. Catra’s not back yet so follow me; I’ll give you guys a tour._ ”

When they walk through the doorway and into the home, Adora’s surprised again because it’s quite homey. The same scheme as outside is present inside--grey with white and brick accents, except some entire walls are brick. The living room has a large sectional, a couch, extra wide wooden coffee table, and several cushioned chairs facing a fireplace with a TV mounted above it. A few plants hang from the ceiling and there are some shelves with movies and videogames. Rogelio reveals that they spend a lot of time here together. Smash tournaments happen every weekend they have off and they regularly play boardgames, which the others who don’t live here usually join them for. When he opens a nearby cabinet to reveal that it’s stocked with games like cards against humanity, clue, twister, and DND boards, books, and dice sets, Bow geeks out.

“You guys play dnd??”

Rogelio chuckles. “ _Yep. DT and Entrapta are great DMs believe it or not. DT spends a lot of time on the story while Entrapta builds the boards. We had a campaign once where we had to travel through a maze. Entrapta made the board completely 4D so any time our characters were electrocuted--which happened more than once, actually--we were zapped too. There was one spot on the board where, if stepped on, which of course Kyle did, the entire board lit on fire. We all died._ ”

“Oh my god,” Glimmer cackles. “That would’ve made Sea Hawk’s _life_.”

Adora snorts before they continue on.

Just off from the living room is a large dining room with a long, mahogany table and chairs. It has another door that faces the kitchen, but the rooms are disconnected by a hallway that leads outside. Rogelio takes them out onto the back patio and shows off Kyle’s vegetable garden, stuffed full with carrots, potatoes, cucumbers, tomatoes, and more. The plots sit nestled into the back of the yard so that the rest of it can remain open for a volleyball net.

“ _We spend most of our time together indoors, but Lonnie and I try to play volleyball out here as often as possible. Sometimes Scorpia plays but most of the time it’s us versus Entrapta and Hordak.”_

“Hordak--that’s your producer, right? The one who helped you guys with school and--uh, that stuff?” Adora awkwardly rubs the back of her head.

“ _Yep, that’s the guy._ ” He must sense Adora’s curiosity so he turns to her and keeps talking. “ _He’s not what you would expect. He’s very grumpy and short-tempered--fights with Catra a lot, but they respect each other. They’d probably never admit it out loud--Catra is too stubborn and Hordak isn’t so good with communicating his feelings--but they care for each other. Hordak’s like an uncle to us._ ”

Adora hums in acknowledgement, coming up dry for words. _It’s good they have someone like him_. 

When he brings them into the kitchen, she’s pleasantly surprised to see it’s very rustic looking, taking advantage of the aesthetic of the brick walls and covering them with dark gray wooden cabinets. The floor is a simple wood, making the room feel cozier despite the modern appliances it containers, and boy does it have a lot--an extra wide gas range, double, stacked oven, commercial mixer, sou vide, vacuum packer, immersion blender, espresso machine, french press, proofer, fridge as long as her arm span; the kitchen was so stocked with tools that it would take Adora several minutes to catalog everything in it. 

“Wow, who’s the chef?” Bow asks the question all three were thinking.

Rogelio laughs. “ _Catra. I’m technically not allowed to be in here, really. She doesn’t like it when people mess with the stuff. She takes her cooking very seriously._ ”

“What changed?” It’s intended as a light question from Adora but it feels a little bittersweet.

Last she knew, Catra couldn’t _stand_ being in front of a stove for more than a few minutes. Young Catra had preferred rapid-ready stuff and groaned when she had to put effort into food. But, well, people change she supposes and the thought threatens her easy smile.

Rogelio shrugs. “ _We all took up hobbies. It just kind of happened. Lonnie has her cars, Kyle and I have our gardening. I think she just wanted something for herself, too. She’s taken several classes and probably knows every worthwhile YouTube chef by name. Honestly, she’s really good; we rarely go out to eat. She can cook up basically anything and it drives her crazy when she gets a meal she thinks she would’ve made better. Here,_ ” he says, reaching into the bread bin for a fourth of a loaf of bread. 

“ _Rip into it. She’s a great baker._ ”

Maybe it’s rude to be so surprised, but Adora is. Nice crust, airy interior, flavorful--nothing she could’ve imagined young Catra, who’d wrap a hotdog in any type of bread because “it’s all the same anyway,” making. 

“Bullshit,” Glimmer manages with a full mouth. “There’s no way,” she says, though it sounds more like “where’s Norway.”

Bow whines. “This is literally not fair. She can’t be this good at multiple things.”

Adora rolls her eyes. “Bow, you’re good at multiple things too.”

He shoves the rest of the loaf in his mouth and rapidly turns around to face her, eyes wide and bread filling his cheeks like a chipmunk. Something that sounds like a “like what” filters past the food.

“You’re a talented cameraman,” Glimmer lists.

“Great listener,” Adora adds.

“Amazing friend.”

“Amazing _person_.”

His eyes shimmer and he pouts dramatically as he swallows the rest of the bread. “Aww, you guys are the best.” He throws his arms around their shoulders as they follow Rogelio through the rest of the house.

Aside from the rooms they’ve been in, they also have an indoor theater, gym, and sunroom, where a lot of cat naps take place, apparently. He avoids showing them his, Kyle, and Lonnie’s bedroom and if he’s clearly not taking them there, there’s _clearly_ something they don’t want to see. Out of respect, he doesn’t show them Catra’s room, which is at the other end of the house (yikes, probably for _reasons_ ) either, but he does show them another one of her favorite spots--the library.

It’s at the peak of the house, the v-shape of the roof spanning the length of the room. The entirety of it is surrounded with tall bookshelves--tall enough that they have one of those fancy wooden ladder things you see in those really cool hipster bookstores. The other side of the room’s wall is completely covered in windows, letting in natural light that cascades over a shiny, black grand piano covered in sheet music and scribbled notebook paper. 

“ _S_ _he does a lot of her process here. Catra’s constantly writing lyrics and all but most of the unified melodies happen here._ ” 

Rogelio has circled around the other side of the piano and they face each other across from it. Bow is cocking his head different angles to view the sheets without touching them and Glimmer has blatantly picked a few up, though she puts them back down where she found them. When the lizard hybrid clacks his claws on the surface of it, Adora’s gaze lifts directly into his.

“ _She locked herself in here for four days to write Killing Kind._ ”

The admission is blunt and it just hangs out there between them. Rogelio’s face is blank but it’s not hard--quite the contrary, actually. It’s a no-pressure _understanding_ ; they don’t need to talk about it. He knows that she knows what he’s trying to say, and Adora’s mouth goes a little dry at the thought of the Magicat furiously scribbling on pages, balling them up, tossing them around as she brainstorms and composes in wild fever. And again, Adora reminds herself that Catra did it for _her._

_Stay!_

She frowns slightly, walking away from Steinway and heading toward the windows. She’s grateful when Rogelio silently follows her, gliding up to her side a few moments after she stops. 

_Stirs of whispers trail and linger_

_You still haunt the corner of my heart_

The silence isn’t heavy but it isn’t exactly light either. 

_I think of you_

_I dream of you_

_Evermore_

He knows she’s thinking--she can just _feel_ his patience while she puts her feelings into order and grasps at the words. 

_Hey, do you hear me?_

_Do you hear me now?_

_On a midnight dreary_

“Once upon a midnight dreary,” she recites just above a whisper. 

It draws her brows together, and she trades her stone between the fingers of her left hand. Her throat feels like it’s closed a bit but she swallows in an attempt to soothe it.

“For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—nameless _here_ for evermore.”

He turns toward her slightly, questioning her with his body language but not moving his hands to speak.

She takes a few more moments before parting her lips. 

“Y’know, Poe only wrote ‘evermore’ once in The Raven. Just once at the end of the second stanza. A pretty word spoken about the narrator’s dead wife.” Adora places a hand on the glass, gazing down below to see the hustle of everybody loading equipment into the buses. 

“‘Nevermore to leave here.’” She says. “‘Quoth the Raven Nevermore.’” Her hand streaks down the glass, leaving a mark. “Nevermore is the last word the Raven speaks, poisoning the narrator’s ‘evermore.’ Yet, Catra inverts it in her song. Poe’s narrator has his hope dissolved in his madness, but Catra’s is the opposite.”

Adora knows she isn’t making sense even though Rogelio doesn’t say so. She’s just thinking out loud, waiting for the final words to piece together as she builds up her courage.

“‘My love is the killing kind.’”

It’s a loaded lyric, one that inspires so many questions and begs her to prod Catra until she spills all her secrets about its meaning. She isn’t here to ask, though, and it wouldn’t be the time to air them anyway. Adora’s not sure when that may be. But she hopes Rogelio will answer this one for her, prays he hears her whisper despite her courage being too small to speak any louder.

“Did she love me?”

“ _We all loved you. We still do._ ”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

His long exhale confirms this.

They shift positions--him turning to face to glass while her body angles toward his. Her heart is thudding against her ribcage but she can be patient like he was for her, even if it sucks.

“ _We were in the studio recording our first album. The others went to grab some food but I stayed back while they recorded her vocals for Doomsday, and she just,_ ” he brings his hands up, squeezing them into balls near his chest before suddenly releasing them, “ _fell apart. She had a breakdown and told us but we already knew._ _She’s been going to therapy ever since._ ”

Adora feels like her heart has been strung out, clipped to a clothesline, and left to dry.

How did she not know back then? In reflection, it’s so obvious. 

When they became teenagers, the touches were different, her treatment of Adora was different. It had always been different from the others, but then it was _different_ different. Anytime Adora settled close to her, Catra gasped. She’d tense her entire body but would relax quickly. Even if Adora realized after she moved that _whoops, Catra’s right there_ and became completely flustered, the Magicat relaxed. She’d bat her eyes, soften her facial features or adorn a slowly growing smirk. The only time she could get her back was when the Puma stared as she lifted something heavy or did something to reveal the strength of her muscles. _Oh man_ , and she milked every second, knowing the other was watching. 

Adora remembers the times she made the Puma blush: when she bought the acoustic from the pawn shop, played their song, and Adora kissed her on the cheek (one of the bravest moments of her life); when a boy asked the Magicat to the dance in junior high and Adora grabbed her hand and said she was already her date; several times after soccer when she ripped her jersey off, letting the air cool the sweat on her skin; any time she thanked the other girl for something nice she did or told her she was proud of her or praised her; and so many more beyond count.

And there were those soft acts of love--the type that didn’t call attention to themselves like grand gestures, but still added up into something big each time. Like how Catra always dragged Adora out of bed in the morning, pushing her to get ready because she knew Adora could fall asleep in the middle of tying her shoes or brushing her teeth. Or how she checked Adora’s backpack--and always so sneakily, like she didn’t want to be caught--to make sure she didn’t forget anything. She panicked once in the middle of class in junior high because she realized she forgot her jersey for flag-football after school--like full on panic attack--and Catra spent an hour in the restroom calming her down. The Magicat snuck out and got it for her and from that point on until Adora moved away, she always had everything she needed. Even assignments she _knew_ she left on her bed would be in a folder in her backpack, displayed right in front of her eyes as her forgetfulness dawned on her. 

But maybe her favorite times were when she interrupted the other girl while she practiced. She’d be working on scales or techniques and Adora would request a specific song and she’d do it. Catra complained, of course, but she always did it anyway. It could be childish like Mary Had a Little Lamb or kinda long like Black Hole Sun, but Catra would play every note and sing every verse. One time when they were both 15 and Adora was squirming in the depth of her feelings, she asked the Magicat to play More Than Words. She was literally in the middle of studying for a biology exam but dropped her book and notes and got the guitar. Adora remembers that time specifically because Catra made eye contact the entire time and teenage her thought that _maybe_ , _just maybe_. 

But just like fate robbed her of her family at birth, it robbed her of Catra all those years ago. 

Adora shouldn’t feel such longing for something that was so fledgling, so underdeveloped that it hadn’t even really begun to bud. She was a teenager when it happened and a young one at that. She should feel embarrassed of the yearning and her idyllic view of what was truly an awful childhood. Yet a decade later, a glimpse of a memory of that fanged grin, the echo of her squeaky laugh, or the whisper of her smooth crooning made her heart swell like a day hadn’t gone by and they didn’t have baggage to drag behind them. 

She sighs, lowering her gaze. “Is it dumb that I still hope she does despite everything?”

Rogelio turns and grabs her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him. His reptilian eyes are serious, scales settling into a hard countenance as his gaze peers right into her soul He shakes his head.

“ _The heart isn’t always as reasonable as the mind, but that doesn’t mean that it’s always wrong. Sometimes love defies logic and that’s okay._ ”

A sound like a jet engine tears Adora’s attention outside, and she watches as a figure rips down the block on an electric motorcycle. Bow and Glimmer have rushed to the window several feet away and they _“ooooh”_ when the dark figure expertly turns into the driveway and then stops by the van where Scorpia is flagging them down.

_Catra._

Rogelio taps her shoulder to say one last thing. “ _Sometimes the heart is right._ ”

Bow and Glimmer are fangirling, gushing about how cool the Magicat is, but Adora isn’t listening. She just tunes out.

“Thanks,” she says, giving Rogelio a small smile.

When the lizard hybrid pulls her into his side so they can share a hug, Adora happily obliges and squeezes his torso with force. 

When she pulls back, Adora feels her confidence come back like the blaze of a forest fire. It settles in her ribcage, warming her chest and maxing her excitement. She lets some of it out and punches his arm. “Guess we oughta get down there, huh?”

He punches her back and she steadies herself so she doesn’t biff it. “ _I guess so._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait--classes are back and I'm trying not to be a bum and do my hw :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for The Horde, Dragon's Daughter, crew and Best Friend's squad to take off!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, writing more slice of life type stuff is hard. I don't really do this so this is getting really challenging for me to continue lol but don't worry, I'm not saying I'm dropping the story!! Promise. And Not like Adora's promise (ouch, sorry girly), like PROMISE promise. But I'm looking into strategic ways to plot a course that helps ensure I don't have to write so many actionless chapters so I can wrap this up sooner rather than later in an appropriate (again, -ish but hopefully just appropriate) way. How long will that take? That's a good question lol

“What?”

The Magicat cocks her hip to her side, lashing her tail out once when she realizes Bow is staring. 

Adora, Bow, and Glimmer had walked up to her and Scorpia while they were wrapping up some business talk. Adora hadn’t even noticed the intensity of his glare, but it appears Catra has. 

He squeals and his eyes sparkle with wetness. “If my helmet were that adorable, I’d leave it on, too.”

Catra seems to realize that she never took her motorcycle helmet off--just flipped up the face cover to speak. It’s the same one Adora saw in the garage at Razz’s--black with cat ears so the helmet fits more comfortably on the Magicat’s head.

Bow gasps. “Those _ears_.”

The girl immediately tenses and _blushes_ and _wow, that’s cute_. 

“It is not!” 

She grunts as she quickly moves to take it off. Unlucky for her, it’s stuck, so her hands scramble about it trying to get a better grip--she even employs her foot to rip it off. Lucky for them, they can stand there and watch her struggle, and she continues to have a hard time for several drawn out seconds.

Tears have gathered in Adora’s eyes, so she only blurrily notices that Catra finally got the helmet off, therefore she doesn’t notice the way the Magicat freezes, scowl gone and blush deepening when she locks her eyes on Adora, staring as she laughs. Catra’s in her own world for that moment, blissfully unaware of the duo still standing there watching, then making eye contact.

“Catra,” Entrapta rushes over, making her way directly in front of the Magicat and startling her. “Hordak wants to speak with you when he gets here to drop Kadroh off! He’s also bringing me lunch--tiny sandwiches! Isn’t he a great lab partner?”

Catra recovers from her shock, grumpily lowering her shoulders and setting her face into something more disgruntled. “Fine,” she says. “What does he want?”

“Ask him yourself!” 

Their gaze shifts to the end of the driveway where a shiny, completely blacked-out Bugatti strolls toward them. It stops about ten feet away before two men exit either side of the vehicle in sync. Both look almost identical: pointed ears, strong jawline, combed back hair with buzzed sides, white face and charcoal skin. They’re the same height, same build, same everything except for a few distinctions. The one on the passenger’s side has white hair and green eyes while the driver has red eyes and blue-black hair. Both are wearing jumpsuits, though white-hair’s is more military-style but in a soft pink, cuffed a few inches above chelsea boots. Black-hair’s is a sleek, black gown and his presence immediately intimidates her, makes the hair on her neck rise as he struts forward with a stoic face in heeled Louboutin boots. White-hair is smiling happily, a bounce in his step, but the other reeks of doom and gloom. And they march right up to them.

Black-hair nods his hello before setting his sights on an individual. “Entrapta,” he addresses her without emotion. “I brought your lunch.”

He gently holds the neatly folded bag in both hands, outstretching them toward the girl.

Entrapta immediately moves, unperturbed by his dark aura. “Yes! Thank you, lab partner!”

Her prehensile hair quickly grabs it and she turns around to rush off elsewhere but she stops, comes back and pecks him on the cheek. Mr. Doom flushes maroon and his ears droop slightly and Adora is so caught off guard that she giggles. 

Catra steps forward. “Tomato is Hordak and sunshine is Kadroh. This is Bow, Glimmer, and Adora.”

Kadroh peppily shakes their hands, but at the mention of Adora’s name Hordak moves his blank gaze to her. 

Adora is struggling to not melt under the heat of his stare when Catra steps between them. 

“You wanted to speak with me?”

“Yes,” he states simply, shifting his focus. “Come,” and they walk further down the driveway, Hordak’s back unhealthily straight and Catra’s tail lashing, but not in an overly angry or uncomfortable way.

“Wow, when Rogelio said grumpy, I thought grumpy in like the cute old man way,” Bow sighs.

“Yeah, that was more like ‘cower before me puny Etherians! I will conquer your backwater planet and, like, I don’t know, eat your children?’” 

Glimmer ends her imitation weakly, making Adora snort.

“He’s intense.”

“He’s not all bad, though! Trust me--brother is much softer than he looks,” Kadroh inputs, smile still gracing his lips and winking. 

Adora thinks that’s a little hard to believe, but if Rogelio says he’s basically their uncle who plays volleyball with them and helps produce their music, he must not be all bad. 

Kadroh loads his stuff on the bus, leaving the three there, so they watch Catra and Hordak’s interaction from afar. Neither look particularly pleased, but the most emotion Adora’s seen from him so far is a blush, sooo. Catra has her arms crossed, head reeled back in that _I may be shorter than you but trust me, I’m looking down on you_ way, but it only seems half-serious. Her claws are sheathed, her tail is moving lazily, and her posture is cocked, but relaxed--not ready to strike. Hordak may have adopted a slight scowl and stood a little more rigid, but Adora watches as his easy talking stops and he looks awkwardly (?) to the side, moving his arms that’re crossed behind his back to his sides. His hands clench and unclench and his posture breaks a little and he looks like he’s struggling for words. _Ope_ , and his eyebrows crease into a kind of pout, maybe. Catra looks more at ease, smirk shifting into a softer grin. She says a few things and then her lips split mischievously, corners upturned and fangs poking out as she looks past them at Entrapta and says a few words. For the second time, Hordak blushes and now he’s _definitely_ pouting, fists raised and elbows tucked back as he steps out of his rigidity and into something defensive but not aggressive. Catra just laughs, says a few words, and walks back up the driveway.

She regards the trio when she moves by, heading toward the bus. 

Before she gets in, Swifty comes tumbling out with his tail between his legs, quickly moving behind Adora as--

“What the fuck,” Glimmer says.

“Jesus, that’s a big fucking cat!” Adora spits out, eyes wide. 

Jet black and standing just above Catra’s knee-level is the largest cat Adora’s ever seen. Its ears are slightly curved at the tips and blue eyes are locked onto the dog, but it doesn’t hiss or growl. Rather, it looks onward curiously, weaving its lithe body in and out of Catra’s legs and rubbing against her. After a bit, it stands on its back legs and puts its paws on her chest. She rolls her eyes but she picks the humongous thing up. It works its way out her arms and she sighs, bending her body over to let it climb onto her back. The cat then puts its head on her head, front paws on her shoulders and its back feet dig into Catra’s black, denim jacket. 

And of course, casually, like it's whatever, the Magicat walks over to them like that. 

“I guess your dog met my cat.”

Adora guffaws. “Uh, that’s not a cat, that like a friggen,” she throws her hands up in the air, trying to come up with something but her brain short-fuses, “I don’t know, space alien thing. It's gigantic!”

Catra rolls her eyes. “He’s a Savannah cat. Half domestic, half Serval, and he’s pretty big for an F1.”

He sits perkily on her back, watching them. His mouth crackles out a few sounds and Adora’s gaze lands on his neck, where his collar rests. Immediately she snorts, taking a few steps forward to confirm her suspicions. _Oh my god_ , she laughs. _Of course she would_.

The Magicat cocks an eyebrow at her. 

“It’s so cute that your choker matches his collar.”

Her tail bushes up. “I am not cute!”

He seems to react to her change of emotion, hissing once as she pouts angrily.

“The angrier you get, the cuter you are!” Bow gushes.

Catra exhales, counting in her head loudly as she takes a few breaths. As she calms down, so does the cat.

“ _I_ _diotas_.”

Adora just giggles, stepping forward slowly to near the two. When she’s close enough, she lifts her hand for the cat to sniff and she reads his tag: _Melog_. Melog sniffs a little before rubbing his head against her hand, purring when she gives him scratches.

“See Swifty? He’s not so scary.”

She beckons the dog over and he comes with his head low. He gets more confident when he gets scratches, though. Adora keeps scratching him when Melog jumps down and he doesn’t flinch. They go nose to nose for a moment, sniffing each other before seemingly making the joint decision of _whatever_ and turning their attentions back to their respective owners.

“Well that could’ve been a disaster,” Bow states. 

“Nah, he’s actually pretty chill for a Savannah. He would’ve only defended himself.”

Glimmer scoffs. “How do you know; did he tell you?”

And Catra’s ears droop a bit, slightly swiveling back. But she doesn’t look offended. She looks--

“Wait,” Adora gasps. “He did, didn’t he?”

Catra’s ears are fully swiveled back for a moment before she puffs up her chest with artificial bravado. “Yeah, he did.”

“You speak cat? Oh my gosh, does that make you like _trilingual_ or is that like a different ballgame since it’s different species.” Bow claps his hands together.

“ _Mierda_ , no, I don’t speak cat. I can just kind of understand _him_ , specifically.” The Magicat blushes a little, looking abashed as she smooths her hand down Melog’s back. “He imprinted on me when we met several years ago and I guess we just figured out how to communicate.”

Adora’s curiosity perks. “He imprinted on you? How did you meet?”

Catra laughs softly. “Are these your first official questions, Ms. Journalist?”

“No,” she shakes her head, responding without missing a beat. “ _I_ want to know.”

The other girl stops laughing, staring at her for a second but is saved by the blare of a god awful horn.

An ugly yellow-orange school bus comes up the driveway, parking on the opposite side of the others. The doors open and Mermista, Perfuma, Spinerella, and Netossa come out, approaching them. Sea Hawk stays in the driverseat, hanging out the window as he thrusts his fist into the air.

“Advencha!” 

Adora cringes, Glimmer rolls her eyes, Catra snorts, and Bow squeals in delight. 

“Hi guys!”

“Hi Bow!” Perfuma greets back with just as much enthusiasm.

Mermista stops in front of them, crossing her arms and feigning disinterest. “We’re, like, ready to go so get your stuff and get in.” 

Bow grabs Glimmer’s hand and he skips into the garage.

Adora’s shocked to see that Catra has turned away from her and is conversing with Netossa. She’s double-shocked when Mermista’s apathy breaks for a moment into excitement as she joins their conversation and says a few things to the Magicat. _How about that_. She considers joining them herself when Perfuma gasps at her side.

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you good?”

But the other’s face is completely blank, eyes wide as she stands there unmoving. Seeing the always happy girl _not_ have a smile on her face for more than two seconds immediately puts Adora on edge, so she follows her line of sight to see what could possibly shake her out of her good vibes.

_Huh_.

Adora looks for a few seconds before smirking.

Near one of the Horde tour buses, Scorpia stands animatedly talking with Entrapta and Kadroh. When Kadroh responds, the scorpian-hybrid grins, wrapping her arms around him and lifting him like he weighs nothing. She’s still smiling, inputting excitedly into their conversation when Adora turns back to Perfuma.

She nudges her side. “That’s The Horde manager, Scorpia.”

“Oh,” the tall, tanned girl responds. 

Adora laughs, nudging her again. “Go say hi!”

Perfuma blushes. “Right now? Oh my, I don’t know. We’re about to leave anyway so maybe not.”

“Alright,” Adora relents. “But you’re going to introduce yourself soon.”

Red covers her freckled face and she nods quickly before jumping back into her bus. 

“Adora!”

She looks in the direction her name was called--Lonnie, beckoning her over. Adora waves at Bow and Glimmer as she approaches the bus, guessing that this is her last opportunity to. Swifty happily trots along at her side and he sits obediently at her feet when she stops outside the bus.

“C’mon in--Scorpia’s already loaded your stuff; you just have to get settled. Let me show you around,” she says, guiding Adora into the fancy, black double-decker. 

Adora must finally be done with surprises as she takes in the interior--new, shiny, _expensive_ , but again, less chic and more homey. The flooring is grey wood while the walls are a reddish brown, and the driver’s area looks really comfy. The seat is a plush, form-fitting chair that may or may not have massage options, and the dash curves slightly around it, bringing the cup holders and controls into better reach. The steering wheel itself has a fluffy red cover on it, and there are pictures stuck all around the area. All of them are of the band or crew: a picture of the group, younger, standing in front of a god-awful school bus like Sea Hawk’s; one of Entrapta and Kadroh looking sheepish at fuming Catra and Lonnie as some electronic contraption smokes; a selfie of the lot of them--band and crew--smooshed together on a couch and the floor, sleeping and cuddling. 

Scorpia is the picture-taker, giving a joyful smile to the camera as the sunrise casts light over them. Kyle’s in Rogelio’s lap, mere centimeters away from being slobbered on by the drool that hangs from the hybrid’s open mouth. Lonnie is right next to them, back against them as her legs hang over the armrest. Melog is sprawled out on the back, away from Catra who sits between Entrapta and Scorpia on the floor. It looks like Entrapta’s prehensile hair has wrapped around Kadroh, on her other side, and the Magicat, giving them something other than the floor to rest on. Kadroh’s face is covered by the purple hair while Catra’s is covered by a sleeping mask that says _Fuck Off_. And in Scorpia’s lap is--

“Okay, I need a definite count--how many big ass pets are on this bus?” 

Lonnie quirks her eyebrow at her before looking at the picture and _ah-ing_. “Just three including Swiftwind and Melog. That,” she says, pointing to the giant brown and white rat, “is Emily. She’s Entrapta’s er--pet? Helper?” Lonnie shrugs. “I don’t know, but she trained her to do stuff for her. Don’t worry--she's always with Entrapta so you won’t have any issues.”

Lonnie moves a few feet further in and so does Adora.

“This here,” she opens a closet door, “is storage for Kadroh, Entrapta, and Scorpia, but it also has a desk for Entrapta to work at. These bunks,” one stacked over another next to the closet and another two across the walkway, “are for those three. They requested it further up the bus because Scorpia does most of the driving and she likes company, so they can work over here and talk.”

A few more feet forward takes them into the more open section of the bus. Immediately to Adora’s left is a small, wooden desk. Next to it is a cabinet and on the other side of that is a half-booth and table, which is slightly disconnected from a small kitchen area. From what Adora can see, there’s cabinets overhead along with a microwave and a vent over a small stove. There’s also a sink and some counter space--stainless steel with a marble top--and more storage underneath. On the other wall is a couch and a few cushioned chairs. They’re charcoal, almost black, and--big surprise--there’s more cabinets up top.

“This is the common area. Sometimes it can get kind of full, but there’s enough space to fit us comfortably even with all of us here. The kitchen area is free game--just clean up after yourself. And the fridge,” she gestures to the other side of the counter, “is actually kind of backwards.” She opens the main doors up, revealing that it’s a freezer while the smaller pull-out section down below is the cooler. “Fresh stuff spoils quicker, so we chose more freezer space when we had the bus designed. Catra prepares a lot of stuff for us to take so we don’t have to eat any garbage. All the food is free game too, so help yourself.”

Directly across from the fridge is a closet and next to that is the toilet, which is a small square with only a tiny sink and mirror. On the opposite side of that is the shower, which is also just a square standing area with high sides--to prevent leakage, she’s guessing--and a door. 

“And this,” Lonnie says, opening the doors that lead to the very back of the bus, “is Kyle, Rogelio, and I’s room. This is obviously _not_ fair game, but I figured I might as well show it to you now.”

The walls in there are teal and the paisley bed-spread matches the shade. On the left-hand side is a white dresser and mirror and on the right is a closet with white doors. The flooring in here is a cream carpet, though it’s covered with a variety of garment bags and shoes that haven’t been put away yet. It’s a pleasant space, but Adora’s guessing it’s going to get far less PG soon--Lonnie might think she was being casual, but she’s got a feeling there’s another reason why their room is back here and the other bunks are as far away as possible.

Adora tries not to let that knowledge leak out onto her face. “Wow, this is really nice. You said something about designing?”

Lonnie smirks, nodding her head. “Yeah! When we got the money, we decided to invest in buses that worked best for us. In order to create more space for just _being_ , I guess, DT decided to have their own bus. They travel with Huntara, Tong Lashor, and Flutterina, their assistant, and take a lot of the equipment, but the rest of us are in here and we all had a say in what we wanted. 

Adora hums in recognition before narrowing her brows. “Wait, then where does Catra sleep?”

“Oh, she’s got up-top to herself. The area up there is a little smaller--bus ergonomics and all that--but we all agreed it’d be good for her to have her own space. The three of us have our room and the others don’t care much for alone time, so it was a no-brainer. She’ll have to show you sometime.” 

She nods her head. _Makes sense_. 

Adora can already feel herself getting a little restless--the tour was nice and needed but she, no offense to Lonnie, got bored of it almost immediately so she’s itching for something to do, like unpack. 

“Okay, and what about me?”

Lonnie cringes slightly and Adora’s heart pangs anxiously because what did _that_ mean.

“Oh, I can answer that! Come over here!”

Scorpia must have really good ears because she’s at the other end of the bus by the bunks, waving her that way.

“So, usually I have this top bunk to put my stuff but since you need a bed, let me just take this--” and the hybrid starts pulling loose items off of the top bunk. Shirts, a rubix cube (how does she even with her pincers?), packs of gum, a tablet (again, how?), all pile into her arms and they don’t seem to stop coming. 

“Whoops, could you?” And she shoves a ball of stuff into Adora’s arms without getting confirmation. 

Adora can see that Catra has entered the bus, but can’t make out her expression with Scorpia grabbing, dropping, picking up, and awkwardly trying to manhandle everything she apparently has living rent free on the top bunk. 

She drops a book onto the floor between her legs. “Oops, let me just--” She tries to squat and get it, but there isn’t enough room for her to move her head and see where it is, so Entrapta, laying on the top bunk on her side, gives her directions like she’s a claw-machine.

“Left, keep going left, too far, go right two inches, now back up approximately 1.25 feet,” and Scorpia’s stinger pushes through the closet, getting tangled in a sweater that’s hanging in there.

Catra’s sigh is loud and dramatic, but Adora wouldn’t say it’s uncalled for--this is a _mess_.

“Scorpia, just stop. Throw that shit back onto the bunk.” 

“Oh, but Adora--”

Another sigh cuts her off. “It’s okay. I have open space up there that we can figure out.” A pause. “That okay, Adora?”

She’s so stunned that Swifty has to nip at her leg to bring her brain back from its freak-out. “Uh,” she says dumbly, “yeah, yes. Yes! That’ll be okay. It’s just…”

“What,” Catra deadpans.

“How’s Swiftwind going to get up there?”

“Like this. Come here.” 

She sounds sure of herself so Adora tries not to let the now rising panic of _do I have to be on different levels than Swifty?_ get to her, but trading places with Scorpia is also distractingly difficult. The woman is six feet something of pure muscle and that’s nothing to be ashamed of--in fact, Adora might be a _little_ (a lot) jealous--but that makes the narrow walkway impossible for anyone but her and her bulging biceps. 

After hastily emptying her arms, she jumps upward, putting her feet in the bunks and standing over the floor. “Go under!” And it’s awkward as Adora crawls on her knees to the other side, Swifty following, but Scorpia is grinning and just being her genuine self, so she does it. 

When she stands up, Catra gives her an amused but unimpressed look.

“You know you could’ve just backed up into the main room and swapped spots there, right?”

Adora’s blushing cheeks say _nope, I definitely didn’t_. 

“Shut up,” she pouts, looking at the ladder. “So how does this work?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “Like this. C’mere, dog.”

Swifty looks at Adora for permission first and when he gets it, he sits in front of Catra expectantly. 

“Stay,” she says before pushing an elevator-like up button that Adora is _just_ now seeing. And sure enough, a circle of flooring under Swiftwind lifts, bringing him up to the second level. 

“Huh,” Adora says. _This bus is fancier than my apartment._

Catra snorts as the lift comes down and once it's out of the way, she climbs that ladder rapidly with ease. “Put your crap on the lift and press the button. I’ll pull it off.”

Once it’s all gone upward, Adora elects to use the ladder, heart beating loudly because it’s dawning on her that _wait, I’m sharing private quarters with Catra for three months_ , and it makes the dumb, gay organ swoon. Her brain tells it to shut up this one time because life isn’t fanfiction, and now she’s thinking about the fact that people have probably written self-insert fanfics about them being in a romantic/physical relationship with Catra and she’s telling herself she’s childish for being butthurt about a bunch of randos being all _#there was only one bed!_ and _#omg they were roommates_ when she’s suddenly on the second level. 

Adora stands there for a few seconds, exiting her previous train of thought before her sight actually focuses on what’s in front of her. Right in front of the opening in the floor is a decent sized closet with deep, dark red mahogany doors, and the same mahogany accompanies the rest of the space--from the dresser in the middle of the right-hand wall that a TV rests on, to the desk just beyond that. Across from the TV is a black futon that rests on the black, epoxy floor that has greyish-silver swirls streaking through it. It rests against the wall, which is a pleasant amethyst purple color. There’s a few feet of space between the couch and the microwave/mini-fridge, and there’s currently a rack of about four guitars resting there. Adora moves closer to get a better look at them but then finds herself staring at the bed, cocked sideways and filling the back-end of the bus. Or, not quite--it’s maybe a full or a queen, but there’s storage built into the wall right behind it. It creates a lifted platform several feet above the bed and it looks wide enough to sit up there and stare out the back window. Judging from the pillows up there, Catra had the same idea. 

She looks down again at the bed and it’s covered with a simple black comforter over-- _holy shit_ , black Versace barocco sheets with gold trim, which _wow, those are literally an entire month’s rent_ , but the guitars on the rack that she’s now in front of are probably collectively worth a full year’s.

Catra glides up next to her, pointing them out. “That,” being the Ibanez on the far left, and almost entirely matte black save for the dark brown frets, “is my 8-string Prestige. It’s a fun one to fuck around with chords. That,” now pointing toward a seafoam green Fender, “is my Telecaster. It’s good to noodle on when I’m looking for a sound with less bite.” Catra taps on the top of the next one--a black cherry Schecter (? Adora’s never heard of that brand before. Then again, she knows nothing about guitars). “When I want that clean bite, I’ve got my Hellraiser. And this--”

Catra pauses, tensing for a second before getting a soft look on her face and plucking the guitar from the rack. Adora gasps and Catra gently smiles. “This, I take everywhere with me.”

And by God, it’s the Taylor from all those years ago, not a scratch or speck of dust in sight, so forgive Adora if she tears up a little bit at Catra cradling the souvenir of a cherished memory so reverently. She doesn’t hesitate to step forward into the Magicat’s bubble to ghost her fingers across its familiar body, careful not to leave smudges. When Adora looks up, she immediately meets Catra’s gaze, and they stare at each other for a few moments, smiling softly. 

She’s not sure how long they would’ve stood there if not for Kyle yelling up “we’re taking off!”

That breaks the moment and Catra puts the guitar back. 

“So, uh, we don’t have a spare bed but there’s the futon for now. If that gets uncomfortable, we can stop at some point and get a mattress to plop over here. I can move the guitar rack and--”

Adora chuckles. “Thanks. I can sleep just about anywhere, though.”

Catra rolls her eyes at the same time the bus starts moving forward. “How could I forget.”

They decide to split the closet--Catra has some garment bags to hang, but she can otherwise use the storage by the bed. Adora is going to use the dresser under the TV and once she unpacks, she’s happy that basically everything fits except for some toiletries and long-sleeves, which she hangs. They have to pull one of the giant beanbag chairs out to fit her suitcase and Swifty’s container and have them be easily accessible, but all in all unpacking was pretty easy. Swiftwind laid patiently out of the way the entire time ( _good boy)_ while Melog watched from the perch, but he happily trotted over to his bed once Adora set it out in front of the futon. 

They were quiet as they worked, but it was an easy silence--comfortable, actually, until Adora started to think about how Catra just got out of rehab. 

Does she feel okay? Physically? Mentally? Is she clean? Did it go alright? Well, as alright as you can get when you’re going through withdrawal. Was it tortuous? Did the staff treat her well? If they didn’t, Adora’s gonna do something--not physically because _yikes_ unless they did something to Catra that was _bad_ bad, in that case, wrap her knuckles and set her loose and get her a good lawyer, she guesses, but she doubts that would happen because she has self-control and with the money the band has, Adora doubts they sent Catra to some sub-par facility. Now that she thinks about it, she wonders what it was like. Sterile? Hospital-like? Or did they try to make it comfy? Maybe they had a pond where Catra could sit and, like, throw rocks at the koi or something, but then again she’s never cared for water so she’d probably avoid that, especially because sweats and vomiting probably meant she had to bathe _way_ more than she’d like to--she’s always hated her fur being drenched. It made her feel weighed down and she hated how long it took to dry. Adora doubts that has changed. But who knows--maybe Catra’s come to enjoy water from afar?

Adora’s glad when Kadroh pops his head up and says they should come downstairs so they can all hang out. She’d worked herself up to the point where the release was going to be messy and insensitive so she’s glad for the sudden distraction. And she becomes even more glad when they sit there for _hours_ , playing Mafia (in which _somehow_ Catra is either a gangster or innocent and no one can exactly pinpoint which at a given time, Adora is the doctor a lot, making her agonize over decisions, and Kyle is killed every round). Or reminiscing and sharing memories from when Adora was separated from them--which they are honestly curious about. They ask questions, laugh, and praise her for her accomplishments; they look genuinely interested and happy for her. 

“Okay, hold on,” Lonnie wheezes, tears falling from her eyes. “Exactly _what_ happened when you found out about us in the band?”

Everyone is already laughing, but when Adora says “alright, so I was eating ramen and I was in the middle of swallowing when they showed me the picture so when I started choking, the noodles were already in my throat. When I yanked the chopsticks from my mouth, the noodles I had swallowed were pulled up, too. It was so fucking terrible. It tickled the whole way up and I’ve honestly never felt so violated. Is that what’s it like for cats to cough up hairballs?” and Entrapta, in all seriousness, immediately follows up the question with “it’s possible that they are very similar sensations. Catra, would you say furballs tickle?” everyone falls apart. Rogelio cries out a menagerie of reptilian roars, Kyle literally pees his pants, Lonnie is laughing so hard that she’s not even making noise (or probably breathing), Catra’s head is tipped back, hands on her face as she howls, and Scorpia, who they’re video chatting while she drives so she can take part in the conversation, nearly has to pull over because she’s _dying_. And yeah, maybe it’s not _that_ funny, but everything is _hilarious_ when you’re that happy.

Adora surprises herself by returning the favor without any effort. Her own curiosity takes over, drowning any guilt or regret because she wants to relearn the people in front of her (or _learn_ the people she doesn’t know). Honest to God, she’d love every detail of their lives--would read Encyclopedia volumes on each of them so she could feel as close as she used to with them. 

Bow and Glimmer’s voices break across her mind, so she has the sense to pull out the camcorder Bow gave her and set it up to record their conversation. Now she can listen without freaking out because _fuck, I should’ve taken notes_. Problem solved for future Adora. 

Kyle and Rogelio graduated high school with average grades while Lonnie was an honor student. Catra nearly flunked out but tried just enough to get out of there. College admissions were tricky, but Catra’s high ACT score helped make up for her grades (that and the tragic backstory). With Hordak’s influence as a tenured professor in Ann Arbor and their, not surprisingly, _stunning_ auditions, the music department at UCLA presented them with full-ride scholarships so they could ensure these guys went there. They wanted their talents and they weren’t going to pass them up for another university to snatch--kind of like what drafting was like for Adora. 

Majoring in music was _hard_ , but they at least knew what they were getting into since Hordak had been teaching them on the down-low for several years already. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio’s theory was good enough to get them into theory 2, while Catra’s placement put her in theory 3, which was a _junior_ -level course. She finished the theory courses by her sophomore year, so she went under private instruction after that to continue to learn and challenge herself. Sight-singing classes were hard for Rogelio because his more lizard-like anatomy made pitch and pronunciation difficult. The others helped where they could, but the department ended up working out accommodations for him to ensure he could succeed. 

Kyle and Lonnie were worried about not making it into one of the jazz ensembles--all music majors were required to be enrolled in at least one ensemble, and since Catra was among several upperclassmen trying out for guitar (and they were looking for only _one_ in each ensemble), Kyle felt his chances were small and needed a back-up. Lonnie was the same--there were _so many_ bassists trying out so she couldn’t risk it. They ended up enrolling in marching band. Kyle was put in pit and fell in love with the vibes _immediately_. Camp was a few weeks before school started so when he discovered this, he was up basically day and night in order to put together a decent audition on vibes instead of guitar, which was more competitive. On the other hand, Lonnie did cymbals in drumline. After they both made the top ensemble with Catra and Rogelio, they decided to stay in marching band. Kyle did pit all four years while Lonnie picked up trombone for her second year and was a drum major for her final two. 

All four hit it off with DT the second they were introduced. It took some convincing after DT graduated (they were two grades ahead) and had been DJ-ing to formally join the group, but obviously it worked out. They all didn’t seriously pursue the band until after graduation because they were taking in the ballpark of 20 credit hours and wanted to focus on their studies. And they all worked hard, but they particularly _gushed_ about Catra, hyping up her tireless efforts and hours logged practicing or staring at a textbook. Apparently she spent so much time at the fine arts building that she often slept in a practice room (a specific one that she always claimed, so she had a blanket stuffed behind the piano. By her third year, there was a sign on the door that reserved it specially for her). They all graduated with distinction--Kyle and Rogelio graduated Cum Laude and Lonnie Magna Cum Laude--but Catra’s hard work was _very_ well rewarded: she graduated Summa Cum Laude, top of class in Fine Arts, and was Salutatorian that year. 

And _wow_ , the Magicat blushes so hard Adora can see it even under her fur. _It’s just like her to be cocky and confident when she recognizes her own achievement but bashful when her family does_. It makes her heart swell but also roll her eyes.

They started working on the band right after that. 

It seems kind of obvious in retrospect, but the name “The Horde” was chosen to honor their mentor-turned-producer--Jack Horde (Hordak), the grumpy man who gave them lessons, moved them into his estate after Weaver was arrested while they pursued emancipation, and helped endorse _and_ fund their endeavors in university. When Catra made jazz, she was without an electric guitar of her own. When Hordak heard she was borrowing the school’s, he bought her the Prestige upstairs on the rack. He went further than that, though, replacing all of their outdated instruments and paying the rent for a condo near campus. 

The quartet was the most shiny-eyed when they talked about their first holiday with Hordak--Christmas. It was winter break of their freshman year and campus was closed, so they didn’t have anything to do while they waited. Begrudgingly, Hordak flew them to Ann Arbor and had them the week of Christmas through New Year’s. He had refused a tree, a dinner, or anything to do with the season, but he blushed the _entire day_ when he woke up to see a lit pine with gifts wrapped--both neatly and messily--underneath, coffee brewing in the kitchen, and the quartet shoving some ugly matching pajamas into his arms. They were howling again when they spoke about how Hordak _actually_ wore them that day. He looked so uncomfortable, and so perpetually surprised when Lonnie mashed potatoes, Rogelio baby-sat the ham, Kyle stirred the green bean casserole and gravy, and Catra cheekily continued to pour him eggnog. 

“Oh man, and when he found out he had _presents_ ,” Kyle squeaks out several giggles, “his face went totally maroon and his ears drooped the entire time.”

They hadn’t gotten him much--just a mug that said _World’s Best Dad_ , but _Dad_ was crossed out and _Hordak_ was scrawled underneath, and a black sweatshirt that had UCLA and the crest on it, with _Proud Parent_ likewise changed to _Proud Hordak_ with neat, red thread. And he used _and_ wore them both after that day.

“He was actually wearing that sweater when we told him the band name,” Catra says.

“Oh, right!” Lonnie jumps in, turning to Adora. “Right after graduation, he put a lot of pressure on us to figure out our image and the band name was the first step. We stayed up the entire night the day he told us spitballing.”

“ _My favorite reject was Masters of the Universe,_ ” Rogelio signs and Adora hums in response. _Not bad_.

“I liked _Lasagna,_ ” Kyle pipes in.

Adora snorts. “You liked _what_?”

Kyle blushes. “Meatloaf is the best band name _ever_ , so I thought we could be the pasta version or something.”

“Obviously, that failed. We basically tossed garbage back and forth for five hours,” Catra says. “Lonnie was in the middle of ranting about how we needed to pick one so Hordak could lay off, and I just blurted ‘The Horde.’ Didn’t even really think about it, but we talked about it for awhile and decided upon it.”

“ _We snuck out early the next morning to some awards shop in town. It emptied out our bank accounts, but we got them to etch a plaque that day. It was glass and diamond shaped--almost like a spear--fixed into a base. Most of it was black but the outline was clear. It’s really pretty, actually._ ”

“Yep, and we got the horde symbol in red on it. Rogelio drew it that morning. We had them put it at the top with ‘THE HORDE’ in the middle and ‘in honor of Jack Horde’ in a smaller font below that.” Lonnie confirms before Kyle softly speaks.

“When we gave it to him was the first time he initiated hugging us.”

Adora has a hard time imagining the embodiment of intimidation _smiling_ , nonetheless _hugging_ someone. But it makes her grin thinking about the four cracking through such a hard exterior.

Things took off from there--their first album landed with a huge splash, so they scrambled to get transportation together to go touring with bigger groups. Rogelio had bought a school bus and gutted it just like Sea Hawk, except theirs was _much_ dumpier. It would’ve never got them out of state if not for Scorpia, but mostly Entrapta. Scorpia was a music business senior during their first year but she still really took to Catra (Adora does _not_ blush or feel jealous when the scorpian-hybrid openly admits a gigantic crush). They kept in touch and she was the first person they called when they set out to hire a manager. With her came Entrapta--her lighting tech roommate with genius-level tinkering skills, so she’s what kept the band moving, and when they introduced her to Hordak...they all have shit-eating grins when Catra says “he was fucking _smitten_.” Entrapta happily agrees, and says he’s the reason that Kadroh was part of the crew, too. He’s Hordak’s younger brother and according to him, it was “friendship at first sight” upon their introduction.

That’s basically how all of them were brought together--chance and connections--even with Huntara and Tung Lashor, who were apparently bored bouncers at a club they played at a few years ago. In that way, it’s funny how things just fell together for them--like one domino toppling the next and so on. And Adora knows there’s a lot they don’t mention because that would be a _long_ and _heavy_ conversation, but she’s glad to learn all these mundane details and to hear the normalcy they were able to enjoy after foster care. It’s been so easy for Adora to focus on the tragedy that it didn’t even occur to her that they were able to live semi-typical, normal lives for a while--at least until they got famous--and enjoy life. 

Maybe she expected them to be more unreachable--that ten years was really longer than it felt, putting an olympian feat of a distance between them. By all means they probably should be, but she feels so at ease when she and Swifty lift to the upper section for bed that she wonders if she’ll even need to take her sleeping pills. 

The answer is yes, by the way, but her meds usually have their work cut out for them.

And now that she’s in a tank top and shorts, staring at the ceiling in the dark, thoughts racing through her brain like the Daytona 500, she curses herself for jinxing it because every groan of the bus stills in her ear canal, Swifty’s sleepy sighs are like atomic bombs, and whatever strange ambient noise Catra’s got on is driving her wild with _what the fuck is that?_

It’s definitely not the fucking ocean.

She flops around several times like a fish out of water. Actually, Adora flops so much she makes a 360. She digs her teeth into her bottom lip when she realizes that to prevent the whine rising from her throat from releasing. The futon isn’t uncomfortable but she’s hyper-aware of the fact that it’s not a _bed_ , and her body seems especially angry with her. Every knot, unwelcome thrumming of her muscles to _move! jump! run!_ is like a _fuck you_ for volun-telling them that they’re going to deal with this for multiple months. Y’know, like it’s not her place to make decisions about her own body. Apparently she’s not allowed to have this dictatorship, being as her parts are rebelling and demanding _democracy_. 

Adora doesn’t realize she’s groaning until she’s pelted by a pillow and she winces. 

“Sorry,” she says, picking the pillow off of Swiftwind who grumpily huffs about getting hit with the rebound.

She thinks about throwing it back but then realizes that she would very likely hit Catra and starting a pillow fight with the Magicat when she’s trying to sleep is _not_ a great idea, so she flings her blanket off and stands to personally bring it back over.

When she gets to the side of the bed, Catra moves from face-down to her head toward Adora. The limbs on the left side of her body droop over the edge while the girl glares with barely open eyes that reflect briefly in the brights of a passing semi. Her face is blank and she doesn’t say anything when Adora hands the pillow out to her. Actually, she doesn’t move either, so Adora awkwardly keeps the object held outward while they maintain eye contact.

A minute or so in, Adora recognizes what the ambient sound is and the realization makes her drop the hand. Catra must see-- _well no shit Adora, she’s got night vision_ \--because her eyebrow quirks at the perk of acknowledgment on Adora’s face. She doesn’t say anything so Adora fidgets with the pillow’s cover and opens her mouth.

“Trains,” she states dumbly and _wow, Adora, smooth_.

“Trains,” Catra agrees, and she doesn’t say anything for a moment but must realize that the awkward girl in front of her isn’t about to move anytime soon so she elaborates. “I’ve spent a lot of time train-hopping over the years. It’s really loud when you’re hitching a ride so it’s a lot to get over in order to sleep.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Guess it made sleeping when it’s too quiet too hard now.”

Adora nods her head but doesn’t move, brain too tired and body too whatever. 

Catra sighs. “Is it too loud? I can shut it off.”

“Oh!” Adora jolts, focussing again. “No, it’s fine. I’m just not a great sleeper,” she laughs a little stiltedly, rubbing the back of her head.

She continues laughing when Catra continues to stare, probably seeing _way_ more of Adora than Adora currently sees of her and it’s making her tense up. _Walk away Adora_ , she tells herself. _Just go back to your bed--er futon. Go lay down_ , but damn if her feet move, so her laughs weirdly jump in pitch and cadence as she tries to fill the silence. There’s literally no humor in them but Adora feels more uncomfortable at the prospect of, again, continuing to just _stand there_ , so she keeps doing it until Catra snorts loudly, lifting her shoulder just enough to reel her face down into the mattress again.

In a few seconds, the Magicat’s body thrashes, untangling herself from her sheets and kicking them off of her before she flops over onto her back, further away from Adora on the bed. 

“Get in, _Idiota_.”

Adora blushes. “What?”

“I’m too tired to have this conversation. _¡Métete en la cama!_ ”

Catra grabs her hand and yanks her down without another word, and Adora falls onto her knees on the mattress, frozen.

“ _O por Dios_ , fucking lie down. You can’t sleep on the futon, so just sleep in the fucking bed. Don’t make it weird,” Catra huffs, flipping her body away, and pulling the comforter over her and flinging it toward Adora so she can cover herself.

For a while longer, Adora doesn’t move but when the Magicat looks over her shoulder and her sharp, cat-like pupils dig into her like the claws on her fingers, Adora gulps and rushes to right herself, stiffly lying on her back.

Catra reaches toward a speaker but stops part-way there. “Do you still snore?”

“Uh, yeah? I think so.”

Her hand finishes its path, shutting the device off. “Good. If memory serves, they’re basically the same thing.”

Adora scoffs but feels the tension slowly melt out of her limbs, trickling into some invisible drain on the floor. She goes to reposition herself, giggling in her tired mind about one-upping the fangirls when she realizes she’s turning her back toward Catra and stops herself, turning _toward_ her instead.

“I knew these sheets were luxurious but _wow_ ; laying in them really beats the shit out of imagining what they feel like.”

Catra flicks a hand behind her to push Adora in jest, landing on her raised hip and nearly knocking her out of the bed. 

“Shut up,” she growls, but Adora can hear the under-lying laugh. “Goodnight, Adora.”

Adora should be freaking out, and maybe she will later when she tells Bow and Glimmer, but the sleeping pills and the comfort of where she is starts to hit her full force, bringing her too close to the edge of slumber to really panic. 

“Goodnight, Catra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking three more arcs of this story before it wraps up but that might change upon actually writing them. Lord knows I've got tens of thousands of words to go probably because I don't know how to write any differently. I'm going to do my best to keep the pacing in a good place and the chapters satisfying! That might involve pushing time forward because going day by day would take friggen forever and likely be monotonous af, just so you're aware. 
> 
> I'm tinkering around with an idea about a very niche, self-serving SPOP AU in the avatarverse (my forever-girl fandom), which would allow me to write more how I like to write (bless). Thoughts? 
> 
> Again, all of you are lovely and thanks for stopping byyyy


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The old gang meets Adora's brother Adam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!

In the first several weeks of touring, Adora learns a lot of things about the group--like that Entrapta is both awesomely and _scarily_ genius--“hey Adora I noticed that your laptop was running slow so I took the liberty of erasing your cache and upgrading your system and you should really consider changing your security software because it was _not_ hard to crack oh look tiny burritos!”--but for the most part, everyone is way more normal than she would’ve guessed. Like, they’re rising superstars who do great things but they’re still human. Adora finds her initial posts on BM Music social media focus a lot on that, and while she thinks fans will love this content, her main reasoning for doing so is to share all the great things she’s coming to love about her old family. 

Like how Kyle is a huge foodie and loves to try the different iconic foods at the places they visit. He begs them to stop at The Old Fashioned in Madison so he can try the cheese curds and doesn’t say anything to them until he’s ordered and eaten every bite. In Omaha, he _forces_ them with the most intensity she’s ever seen in his tiny body--and it kind of reminds her of Glimmer--to stop at The Drover so he can order a whiskey marinated ribeye, the Berkshire pork chops, _and_ the teriyaki tenderloin kabob.

Or when they marathon Disney movies and Kyle doesn’t just cry but _bawl_ during several scenes--during the Remember Me part with the grandma in _Coco_ , Mufasa’s death in _The Lion King_ (she doesn’t miss the way he clings to Catra’s side and trembles while she rubs his back, sets her head on top of his, and purrs slightly as the king falls and when Simba finds him), and when the crowd attacks Quasimodo in _Hunchback of Notre Dame._

“Kyle--Kyle, it’s okay,” coos Catra as the people pelt the misunderstood hero with fruit and call him names.

“It’s not fair,” he chokes out. “He never did anything to them! And he’s such a good person.”

Lonnie combs her fingers through his hair. “We know. He doesn’t deserve it.”

She doesn’t post him crying--that would be mean, but when he gets starry-eyed as Belle and the Beast dance, she sneaks a picture. And yeah--it’s mostly for herself again--but it’s too cute not to share as the golden light of the TV casts over his euphoric expression.

Adora figured from the net in the backyard that Lonnie and Rogelio were really into sports, but it downright _shocks_ her that the lizard-hybrid also likes to knit and that Lonnie is really into art, too. Rogelio often relaxed, pulling out a funky hat that’s apparently going to be an octopus, as requested by Entrapta, to work on, expertly threading with the knitting needles grasped in his clawed hands ( _I_ _nstagram: “Are MCMs still a thing? If so, could your mans do this? #icon_ ). 

They stop at several museums in Minneapolis, walking the rooms as Lonnie spends her time really examining sculptures and paintings. Bow gets a great picture of her standing in front of a massive outdoor mural, brows drawn, eyes focused, and fist resting under her chin while Catra boredly lays on a stone bench behind her, limbs dangling off the sides except for the one putting a bubble wand to her lips while she blows. 

And again--she knew those two also liked sports--but it probably stops her heart when the duo ask if it’s okay to stay an extra day in Kansas City, Missouri so they can catch the Royals game. Everyone says yes, but all Adora can think about is if she should introduce Adam. Scorpia’s going to get tickets for everyone (except DT because “while sports are _so_ very entertaining, I’d rather sleep in my bed than the stands”), but she can’t help but think about how much Adam likes baseball too. But would it be overstepping to ask if he could join? Would it make them uncomfortable? What would Catra think, being a stone’s throw from KCK and meeting the man who technically took Adora away? The anxiety actually upsets her stomach so much that she tries to casually exit the bus and throw up out of sight. And she does--throw up, _a lot_ , that is--but she fails at being sneaky. 

Rather, _she’s_ the one who’s snuck up on and she nearly jumps out of her skin when she feels a hand gently pulling her pony-tail out of her face and another rubbing her lower back. Luckily the person rights her before she slips into her own vomit. 

“Yikes, chill out, Adora. It’s just me,” Catra chastises.

She heaves one last time in response. 

When she’s done, she wipes her mouth and sits back, moving from her haunches onto her butt. 

“Sorry,” she sighs.

Catra just huffs. “What for? Did you throw up on me?” She laughs but then checks herself to make sure her joke isn’t true. “Nope, I’m clean.”

Adora cracks a tiny smile. “Do the others know I’m out here?”

The Magicat shakes her head. “I noticed you dip and slipped out.”

And really, Adora’s thankful for that--she doesn’t want to make this a big deal. “Thank God,” she exhales, flopping back completely into a patch of clean grass.

Catra snorts and drops into the spot next to her, peering up through the break in the trees near where they're parked at the rest stop. And of _course_ she looks majestic, patches of orange light illuminating parts of her body while Adora’s picked a location that has light blinding her. She’s got one eye screwed shut while the other turns to look at her friend, who turns to look at her after a few moments.

The girl laughs. “You look constipated.” 

Adora tries to roll her one open eye. 

“But are you good?”

“Yeah,” she replies and she doesn’t feel like making up an excuse. She doesn’t want to be dishonest with Catra and knows she’ll probably be able to tell she’s lying anyway. “I just got really anxious and it fucked up my stomach.” 

Catra’s eyebrows lift. “About what?”

Adora sighs, dropping her gaze to stare at the blades of grass between them. “We’re really close to where I moved after Weaver’s. My brother Adam likes the Royals too but I kinda panicked when I thought about asking if he could come. I wasn’t sure how that would make you feel.” 

Catra hums before flicking the bottom of her chin, forcing her eyes upward again. “It might be a little uncomfortable for me,” she admits and Adora’s throat drops into her stomach. The Magicat pokes her side, making her stiffen at the ticklish jab. “At _first_. But I don’t have anything against him for getting you out of that hellhole if that’s what you’re worried about.”

_Oof, am I that easy to read?_

Catra’s knowing smirk confirms that thought. 

“I’m sure he’s just as dorky and pleasant as you are.”

“Hey!” Adora laughs out. “Wait, you think I’m _‘pleasant?’_ ” 

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

But she giggles with Adora when she starts up, smirk turned into a more even, joyful split of the lips. 

“C’mon, _idiota_. Give him a call and I’ll tell Scorpia to add another ticket.”

…

“YEAH!!!” Adam is like a megaphone with an extra set of lungs, his voice ricocheting out of his throat and across the sideline. “Let’s go, Mondesí!” He yells after the player hits the ball out of there, ensuring a home run for the Royals.

Lonnie and Rogelio are going ape shit too. Lonnie high-fives Adam while they excitedly continue to yell right in each others’ faces, and Rogelio stands beside them, loosing a great reptilian roar out of his chest, punching an arm into the air and making his white and blue jersey shimmer in the dimming sun. Bow, Perfuma, Sea Hawk, and Scorpia are likewise caught up with the others’ pep, cheering gleefully while Glimmer, who doesn’t even watch sports, cockily yells insults at the opposing team as if she had an actual stake in the game--which, despite her aggression, she doesn’t. 

To be fair though this was the first time points had gone up--for hours the game had been a back and forth with neither side giving. It probably said something about their abilities to be able to hold each other back so well but it was also _incredibly boring_. Well, for anyone besides Adam, Lonnie and Rogelio.

Adora isn’t quite sure what she was expecting to happen. Maybe a quiet game of awkward small-talk and uncomfortable silences? But she forgot that their group is _big_ so there’s plenty of other people there to talk with besides Adam, not that it mattered--he hit it off with Lonnie and Rogelio _immediately_ , talking different player stats, opinions, etc. while Adora hung back (she loves being active but _watching_ is a different story) and admired their goofiness. They gesticulate wildly, eyes blown open as they speak without regard to volume or sign with so little regard to personal space that Kyle and Bow often get whacked by Rogelio’s wayward hands. Honestly, they take to each other so quickly that if Adora was an outside perspective, she would’ve thought they were good friends. 

It’s just--

_Ugh because there’s always a but_.

She wishes they would, like, cool it for five seconds and talk to other people? Not that Adora is jealous and wants their attention. No, that’s definitely not it. It’s just that there’s two other people that Adora _really_ wants to introduce Adam to and so far the most inclusion they’ve managed is when Rogelio accidentally ball tapped Kyle earlier while they were discussing match-ups. All three of them apologized to him, actually. She guesses they all felt guilty? But that’s besides the point, because while Adora is in the row behind them with Bow and Glimmer trying not to pout, Catra’s on the other side of Kyle shoving stadium nachos in her mouth and debating with Netossa and Mermista which player has the best butt--a topic that’s come up several times over the hours they’ve been there.

And maybe it’s nice to see them bond. Well, actually it’s _great_. She should’ve figured that they would get along just as well as the other three, but they’ve still got just over two months to do this and Adam is only here now so--

“Ughhhh,” she groans into Bow’s shoulder. 

“What? Sad you can’t spend every second of every day in bed with the Magicat goddess?” 

_Of course Glimmer’s still jealous of that_. 

Her underlying tone kind of counteracts her concern, but Adora doesn’t really blame her. Glimmer’s been following the band almost since day one, apparently crushing on her childhood friend every step of the way, and now Adora gets to share a bed with her every night?

(The night after Catra yanks her down onto the mattress, Adora awkwardly fluffs her pillow over by the futon, freaking out about how to ask the Magicat if that was a one-time thing or ? because she can’t come up with better words and yikes how do you even _ask_ that _ughhh_ but apparently asking is better than not because Catra scolds her for being “weird about it” even though she explicitly told her not to be because _duh_ Adora’s going to be weird about it but, welp, turns out it’s not a one-time thing so she doesn’t hesitate to tell her best friends which resulted in:

Glimmer: YOURE FUXCKING KIDDNG ME.

HOW

HOW ARE YOU SO GOD DAMN LUCKY

im so mad rn

literally dont ask me for anything ever again

And apparently Glimmer’s saltiness is more than a little temporary.)

But fuck it--she needs to complain so she’s going to ignore Glimmer’s sodium content for the time being.

“No,” she whines through closed teeth, beckoning them closer to listen so the others don’t hear. “But I am a little peeved that despite being here for fucking ever, _someone_ has only exchanged hellos with two of my old family while the other two are already becoming future groomsmen.”

To make things more obvious, she nods forward at the back of Adam’s stupid head, though the crew cut looks _way_ better than his old bowl cut, she must admit. 

Bow gives her the understanding look she wants. “Why don’t you just tell him to talk to the others?”

_But not the response, apparently_ , so she groans, whispering back “but I don’t want to _force_ him! I want him to have fun too but--” Adora bites harshly into her hotdog and yells with her mouth full.

“Okay, Jesus, She-Ra. Give the dog a break,” Glimmer says, pulling the remainder from her lips while Swifty whines, thinking he’s being addressed. 

Adora pouts, looking back over to Catra’s group when she hears the Magicat’s crackly laugh.

Mermista and Netossa are ripping pieces of their pretzels off and throwing them into Catra’s mouth, who’s doing a pretty decent job at catching them while Kyle gets pelted in the eye and squeaks in surprise. 

And wow, Adora needs to thank whoever the fuck her guardian angel is because _bingo_.

“Hey ‘Mista,” she shouts, making sure it’s loud enough to get everyone’s attention before opening her mouth and letting the action say _I’m open_ rather than actually verbalizing it. 

Sure enough, her apathetic friend grins and chucks her a piece and she misses, but barely. That’s not the point anyway. Adora sucks at catching things in her mouth. Adam, though…

“Oh jeeze, Adora, that sucked. Watch and learn,” and _yes yes yes!_ Adam’s opening his big, dumb mouth.

Netossa shoots and goes a little wide but Adam reels his head over, pretzel piece plopping onto his tongue as if the aim had been perfect. 

Catra lifts her chin, smirk widening and _challenge accepted_ glowing in her blue and gold eyes.

She jumps from her seat, heading up into Adora’s row to stand between her and Adam. When she opens her mouth and swiftly swallows the bite, it’s game on. Adam quickly shifts positions to be shoulder to shoulder with her but waits patiently as Kyle, ever Catra’s mini me, clambers over his seat to stand in front of Catra and again gets pelted in the eye. 

From there, it gets intense _fast_.

They reserved as many of the seats around them as possible to get some privacy but they don’t have free rein of the area, so creating bigger distances in jest isn’t possible. Trying to catch the pretzels in the most absurd ways possible, though?

Adam braces his hand on the back of his chair, lifting his body into the air and balancing his weight as he swallows a bite. Catra closes her fucking _eyes_ and somehow manages to suceed (cat senses? Really good ears? Who knows). Kyle’s just trying normally, and while the friends are split on who they’re cheering for--Netossa, Mermista, Scorpia, Glimmer, and Bow for Catra and Lonnie, Rogelio, Sea Hawk and Perfuma for Adam (Adora refuses to take sides and Spinerella chooses to silently watch in amusement)-- _everyone_ cheers for Kyle despite his repeated failures. On one failed attempt, Adam dives for the ground and catches the rebound in his mouth and Adora can see _instantly_ that Catra’s shifted to jokingly competitive to _if I win you owe me your first-born_ competitive _,_ dropping her metaphorical weights like Rock Lee during the Chūnin Exams.

It’s getting out of hand when Adora notices that they’re getting noticed.

Catra’s flagrantly hopped onto Adam’s shoulders, standing at full height while she balances when the jumbotron shows that somewhere a cameraman is recording them. Of course everyone’s too into it to realize that, so Adora has to share a silent look with Spinerella to share the humor of knowing. And for a while the screen goes back and forth between the ballgame to them messing around, and it seems the whole stadium has become invested at this odd game, cheering when they continue to catch the now random bits of food nearby people are handing them, being as they ran out of pretzels awhile ago. 

Catra hasn’t gotten off of Adam’s shoulders. Rather, she’s changed positions to gripping his shoulders, flipped upside-down with her head resting on his while he does a really poppy, flamboyant version of the funky chicken. Adam’s making it as difficult for the Magicat as possible, so Netossa takes the food and focuses her aim, having the better arm between her and Mermista. Shockingly, it’s not a disaster and the crowd is getting wilder with them, unbeknownst to them. 

It all comes to a dramatic conclusion when Kyle, who’s still trying his best, _finally_ catches a peanut M&M that twacks off of Adam’s forehead and into his open mouth. Immediately, Catra is off of Adam and lifting the boy, canines on full display while she praises him. Adam in turn picks her up so he can bring Kyle further into the air and not only do their friends freak out, starting to chant his name, but so does the whole _stadium_. It’s at this moment that everyone finally notices the attention they’ve gathered and they’re cry-laughing as Adora sneaks out her phone, catching the perfect picture:

Adam’s eyes are closed, mouth open wide as he throws his head back in laughter. He’s got Catra’s legs bundled in his arms while she sort of sits on his shoulder, Kyle in her lap. She’s leaning on Adam’s head a little and has a fist in the air, the other arm around Kyle as his whole face flushes with his lips slightly up-turned. Right next to them are Rogelio and Lonnie who, too, have both fists in the air, faces as excited as when Mondesí hit the home-run earlier. Just above them is the jumbotron displaying another angle of the group, showing that the others are bent over dying as well as some strangers. The sun is setting but the stadium lights are also on, casting white and orange lighting that gleams over them.

Adora takes some time to admire the photo before Bow and Glimmer grab her arms and bring her into the celebration. No one’s really paying attention to the ballgame at this point, but she really doesn’t care. Not when the ones she loves are so full of life. Not when her brother is giving her Catra a bear hug and she reciprocates, though not without the remnants of her fake apathetic smirk that’s definitely cracking the more she laughs.

Adora feels the thrum of the stadium under her feet but also in her ribcage. It thunders while she stares enraptured at the happy face of the Magicat, feeling as if time has slowed to allow her to savor the moment just a little bit longer, memorize the curve of her mouth, the crinkle of her eyes just a little bit better. Her brain seems to hit record, chancing a look around her friends one more time before coming back to Catra and making eye-contact with warmth and joy that melts into her pores, absorbing into her very being.

Honestly, Adora didn’t have a clue what to expect from the big meet but still--this wasn’t it. This was definitely _better_.

…

“Okay but that has _nothing_ on Adora’s first game as captain at Northwestern. When she wasn’t warming up during pregame, she was in the locker room barfing up any piece of food she’d ever eaten, I swear to god. She could barely go a few seconds without gagging but she wanted to talk off her anxiety so she face-timed me the entire time. It was so nasty,” Adam booms out a chuckle, throwing his beefy arm around Adora’s shoulders. “I was in the stands already and it was a packed house so I was trying to casually talk her down completely surrounded by other people. When she wasn’t stopping, some mom behind me asked us if she needed some pepto because she had some in her bag.”

Catra’s wiping tears from her eyes when she asks “and? Did you take her up on the offer?”

Adora hides her face in her hands.

“Oh honey.” Spinerella tries to hide her smile behind a hand but it doesn’t work. It’s an attempt, though--everyone else doesn’t even try to save Adora from more embarrassment. 

“She ever do anything embarrassing on the field?”

“Catra don’t you dare,” Adora threatens, already leaning over to cover the Magicat’s mouth because she knows words alone won’t stop her. Adam intercepts her, though, fighting to keep her away as Catra talks.

“One time when she was a freshman back in Detroit playing in varsity--”

“Catra, no!”

“--she slid to knock the ball away from some opposing player who was hogging the hell out of it--”

“God damnit, Catra!”

“And she got it away from her, yeah, but that’s not all. Keep in mind that puberty hit this other chick _hard_ \--”

Adam squeezes Adora tighter and she doesn’t need to see his face to know he knows _exactly_ where this is going. “Oh man.”

“--so when Adora’s swipe makes her biff it, going face-first into the turf _on top_ of Adora, who had her face right where growth hit the chick most, oh god, it was a _riot_ . When the player finally rolled off, Adora just laid there so red-faced that her ears, neck, and _chest_ were red, too. The coach ran over to her because she thought she got hurt only to realize she was just being a useless lesbian.”

“Catra!” 

_Fine. If you’re going there, so am I_.

“At least I wasn’t a useless lesbian in front of the _entire school_.”

Catra’s cackling maw shuts tightly instantly. 

“That’s right!” Lonnie barks out.

“All of you shut-up!”

“ _In middle school, Catra took drama as an elective once because she thought it’d be an easy pass._ ”

“That includes you too asshole!”

“Only there was a new drama teacher and she set things up so her classes performed in front of the whole school at the end of the year,” Adora continues without restraint. “We were 8th graders so she wanted to give the older kids something harder: Romeo and Juliet.”

“I will literally slit your throats while you sleep.”

“Catra was even angrier back then, if you can imagine,” Kyle giggles. “So the teacher cast her as Tybalt.”

“No shit?” Adam laughs. “No try-outs or anything?”

“ _Oh no, there were tryouts--just not for that part. No one could match Catra’s intensity so she was slated right away.”_

“That’s too ironic. Wasn’t it Mercutio who nicknamed him some shit like the Prince of Cats?”

Catra’s resigned to her fate, leaning back in her seat to sulk and fume.

Adora smirks triumphantly. “ _Exactly_. When they performed it for the school, it was a shortened version but it still had the scene where Tybalt and Mercutio fight. Her class had more girls than guys, so Mercutio ended up being a girl too. The sword fight started off okay, though Catra was _definitely_ whacking the shit out of the other girl. When they finally got to the part where Romeo jumps between the two and Tybalt stabs Mercutio under Romeo’s arm, the other chick genuinely looked ready to be dead so it could be over with, except that with the dude between them, Catra couldn’t see the girl, so when she moved to stab her she accidentally brought the foam sword upward a little too much--which wouldn’t have been a problem if the other girl hadn’t been so fucking _short_ \--so the sword ended up getting under her skirt and thrusting it over her fucking head.”

Adora’s laughing too hard to continue, so Rogelio jumps in. “ _T_ _ybalt was supposed to flee after that, but Catra was frozen to her spot, staring at the girl as she tried to fix her dress while the Romeo guy tried to keep the play moving.”_

“It was so bad,” Lonnie cries. “Romeo ended up saying Mercutio’s lines, pretending they were whispered to him for him to say aloud or some shit. One of Tybalt’s cronies had to drag Catra off stage and then back on for Romeo to kill her. She was supposed to be angry but she looked so fucking confused.”

Lonnie has tears streaming down her face now, so Kyle finishes the story. “Tybalt and Romeo were supposed to fight, but Catra didn’t even raise her sword so the guy playing Romeo just struck her dead and had to yell at her to ‘die’ when she didn’t move. It was amazing.”

“Af-after that,” Adora chokes out, “some group of guys started calling her the Prince of Pussy and it stuck until we went to high school.”

The entire stuffed tour bus shakes as they laugh to Catra’s dismay. Even DT, who popped in once they got back from the game, is chuckling, gracefully slung over the armchair of the seat Catra is in. Most everyone else isn’t as composed, and Kyle straight-up has snot coming out of his nose that he hastily wipes on his sleeve. 

“Har-har, you got me,” Catra grumbles.

“Wow, so you’re both useless lesbians?” Adam’s grip on Adora has loosened into a hug that has her tucked into his side. “Must be a match made in heaven.”

Adora immediately punches him, ignoring the heat on her face while Catra seems to be coughing on nothing over in her seat. “Shut-up A- _dumb._ ” 

She pushes him further into the carpet, dragging her knuckles rapidly across his head and matting up his hair.

“Okay, okay, truce! I’m waving the white flag, alright?”

Adora mumbles an insult but she’s smiling, trying to let the comment disappear even though it’s definitely echoing around in her head. 

Scorpia looks regretful when she says that they have to get driving to make up for the lost travel time, but the group parts in good spirits, the others heading back to their busses. Entrapta and co. head to their area, Scorpia getting ready to sit behind the wheel for several hours, but Catra, Kyle, Lonnie, Rogelio, Adora and Adam are standing in the living area, exchanging goodbyes. When Adam doesn’t turn to go immediately, Adora swallows, knowing he’s going to say something.

“So, uh--” he starts, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t blame you if you see me kind of as the bad guy.” The others are giving him confused looks but he keeps going. “I’m sorry I separated you. I had no idea Adora had such good people in her life. All I knew was what was on the surface and I was so desperate to get her out of that bitch’s clutches that I didn’t stop to think that maybe--”

It surprises Adora when _Catra_ is the one to interrupt him, despite her history with the _after_. 

“Adam,” she says, stepping forward to put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told her: I don’t blame you for getting her out of there. Weaver’s place was an absolute shithole. If I were you I would’ve done anything to get her out as soon as possible. You’re not at fault for anything. Fuck, you were probably around my age now when you did it, yeah? I can’t imagine how fucked that must’ve been.” She shakes him a little bit, giving Adora a quick smile before turning back to him. “She seems happy. I think you did a good job.”

Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio behind her nod their agreement and Adam looks genuinely _relieved_ , like this was something he’s been holding onto for a while now. Adora feels a little guilty, never having guessed that all the times she’s reminisced, filled him in on the good parts of her life ( _them_ ) before moving, might’ve added to a hidden well of guilt of having taken Adora away from more than just Weaver. 

Adam’s smile looks a little sheepish but he’s definitely grateful, opening his arms to the quartet who happily respond. “Thank you for taking care of her. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time.”

“Back at you, big guy.”

Adora tries not to tear up when they all exchange numbers and snapchats, nor when Adam wraps her up into a bear hug that lifts her from the ground. 

“I’m happy for you,” he whispers into her ear. 

“Thanks, Adam.”

Catra offers to walk him to his car and he accepts, but after the Magicat exits the bus, he stops and turns back around.

“Hey Adora?”

“Yeah?”

His face is relaxed into that understanding look he has--the one that’s soft and doesn’t push too much; just a knowing upturn of the lips. “You should go for it.”

She furrows her brows. “For what?” 

Adora expects him to roll his eyes like it should be obvious, but he just smiles a little wider, making her draw her brows tighter together.

“Don’t overthink it, kid. Text me when you remember to, alright?”

She nods, face still screwed up. “Yeah, okay.”

Adam laughs, throwing her a wave before stepping off the bus. “Love you!”

“Love you too?”

_The fuck was that?_

… 

“Your reputation precedes you, y’know that?”

Catra looks up from the pavement where she’s been kicking a rock along as she’s walked Adora’s brother to wherever the hell his car is in the lot. 

She quirks a brow, snorting once. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Adam turns toward her, shining her a grin that doesn’t look too different from his sister’s. 

“Guess.”

She just snorts again.

After a moment of probably waiting for Catra to say something, he jutes in front of her, stealing the rock and giving it his own kick. When it flies several yards instead of a few feet, he stiffens, spinning back to face her with a bashful grin.

_So it runs in the family, then_. 

She rolls her eyes.

“I’ve always wondered about Adora’s life at the orphanage.”

Catra looks back over to see him sitting sideways on an old Harley, his eyes trained on her. The gaze isn’t harsh, though. If anything it’s curious, like there’s something about her that has an answer he seeks. 

“Adora never got mad at me. For anything, really, but I mean about the whole--y’know.” He says, gesticulating with one hand while the other rubs nervously up and down his thigh. “She’d get sad a lot though. We’d be doing something and she’d crack a joke that didn’t make any sense and turn her head like she was looking for someone, then sober up when she realized they weren’t there. Or I’d get her an ice cream sandwich and she’d immediately split it in two and then stare at the other half like it was far away.”

Adam takes in a breath, shifting his eyes to the moon above them. “I understood those times, or at least I thought I did. But I never understood the times where she’d get banged up at practice and come home all taped up, then find all these extra bandages in her pockets. She had this stockpile under her pillow. It was so weird. Sometimes I sucked at restocking stuff, but we never ran out of first aid supplies at home. If anything, we had excess.”

Catra quickly looks away from him, watching the cars zip by instead.

“I only understood some nightmares. The ones about tests or that hag showing up to one of her games, but not the ones where she’d wake up screaming someone else’s name.” 

He doesn’t specify who but Catra knows.

“Or how she wasn’t scared of that woman getting _her_ , specifically, and insisting all panicked that she had to go back. Adora had nightmares for _years_ , and I thought when they went away so would those sad looks, but they never did; they just got a little less frequent,” he admits. “But she never stopped talking about you all.”

That shifts her gaze back to him and she finds him meeting hers.

“She graduated high school and _still_ made comments like ‘Rogelio would love this’ or ‘this is like the time when Kyle did this,’ but she seemed happy when she brought you guys up. It was like just _remembering_ made her happy. Well,” Adam pauses, biting his lower lip. “Except with you.”

Catra finds herself sitting down on the pavement, resting her head in her hands. “What do you mean?” She asks softly.

“It took me awhile to figure it out. Was it because of some difficult relationship dynamic? Guilt? Regret? It didn’t make sense to me why she could bring up the other three after a while and smile all fondly and stuff but look so _gutted_ when she said your name.”

Adam brings his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it. “I’m not great with words. I’d say that’s Adora’s area, but sometimes she really sucks at it too.”

Catra huffs a laugh.

“But I think I’ve finally figured it out. Not that I could actually describe it, but it makes sense now after meeting you.”

Catra finds herself taken aback, face scrunched in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs. “Fuck, I don’t mean it to be weird. Sorry. I just--I think I realized that you and Adora were--well, _are_ different than her and the other three, even her other friends. You mean something completely different to her. Like--”

Adam stops himself and Catra can tell instantly it’s not because he’s run out of words. Rather, he caught himself from saying something. 

“I just,” he starts again. “I just understand now why Adora never really looked like she was actually _at home_ when she came back from college and stuff. She didn’t look at home anywhere.”

He doesn’t say it. Honestly, she’s glad he doesn’t; hearing those words aloud would feel too Hallmark-y for her tastes, but that doesn’t mean the silent admission as his eyes delve into hers means nothing to her. No, it actually means all too much--so much that her breath catches in her throat for several seconds, and she notices that Adam’s irises are much grayer than Adora’s. Maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight--maybe they’re actually more blue, but they seem only reminiscent of the color right now. _Stress?_ He spear-headed putting the _bruja_ away and had to have tracked Adora down on his own--there’s no way he had the money to hire anyone to do it for him. Not while probably swimming in grad school debt. And thirty whatever is still young so that’s not why he looks so _old_ in his sockets. 

_What has he been through? Why does this stuff about Adora make him look so tarnished?_

Catra almost asks but thinks better of it. She’s been sitting there for several moments at this point, giving him this hard, dump-yard look of emotions, but she isn’t any closer to a response.

Adam seems to guess this.

“Thank you,” he says, still focused on her.

That just throws her more. “For what?”

He shrugs. Not because he doesn’t know--he’s already opening his mouth to clarify--but out of nervousness, perhaps. His shoulders are tense and he’s got his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, clenching and unclenching his jaw muscles.

“For a lot, I guess. For giving her this opportunity. For being cool about it all. You’ve been really nice from what she tells me and uh--you’ve been pretty cool with me too. Like, you have plenty of reasons to be angry,” and Catra immediately shakes her head _no_ \--she’s done with those bad thoughts and feelings--but he’s still going, “but you haven’t been.”

Adam glides a hand down his face, shaking his head quickly. “But that’s not what I wanted to say. Just--thank you for being there for her and all when you were younger. I’ve always wanted to tell you that.”

Catra’s eyes blow wide. “No,” she says without thinking and his brows draw together. “Don’t thank me.” And she doesn’t explain, continues to shake her head. 

She doesn’t have reasons in words, just the memories and feelings that _Adora, Adora, Adora_ churns in her stomach. 

Catra jumps when he laughs under his breath. 

“I understand _that_ at least.” Adam nods, smiling at her. “I get it. Adora’s just...she’s just, uh, like that. She has that effect on everyone I think.”

She snorts and finds herself nodding too. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Y’know, you’re a pretty cool cat, Catra.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s Prince of Pussy to you.”

Adam grins widely, letting out a bellow of mirth as he stands. “Of course, m’lord. How could I forget?”

He extends a hand to her and she takes it before he brings her to her feet. “Now don’t be a dick and give me a hug, okay?”

Catra huffs. “Fine,” she gruffs out like she minds when she totally doesn’t.

Okay, maybe she does when Adam cracks her back in like five different places. 

“Hey hey hey,” she hisses, trying to push herself out of his grip. “This isn’t amateur chiropractor hour. Unhand me before you break my back, _pendejo._ ” 

“Alright, alright have it your way,” he chuckles, putting her down on the ground.

Catra turns to go, flipping him off as her parting gift but she feels a gentle grip on her wrist holding her there so she turns, raising an eyebrow without sheathing her bird.

“Um,” Adam starts, visibly fumbling in his head for words. “I should probably say some important big brother words or whatever but, uh, again--I’m not that eloquent.”

“No,” Catra gasps, relaxing her hands.

“Shut-up, Prince. Let me finish.” He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them again with a more serious gaze. “I’m going to thank you again and this time you’re not going to say anything. Just take it, okay?”

She nods, resisting her sarcastic impulses.

“Thank you, Catra.”

“Thank _you_ , Adam,” and she means it. Not a flippant _oh, you too_ and she’s glad when his face softens into a look that seems to understand that.

“That’s better than a ‘no,’” he chuckles. “I’ll see you around sometime, right?”

Catra squeezes his arm before he hops on the bike and takes off. “Yeah, you will,” she confirms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to revenantearp for suggesting embarrassing stories hehe. We might see more in the future!
> 
> Continued thanks to all of you super awesome people who comment on this work. It's always really encouraging ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first bump in the road on the tour makes Adora wanna pull her hair out at first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned is actually Snuff by Slipknot. Defs give it a listen.
> 
> If you're reading on mobile, there's gonna be a part at the bottom that's probs gonna get messed up. If the note/rhythm thing is just messed up in general, let me know and I'll leave it out. It looks okay on my screen so idk if it'll work.

Adora should’ve seen this coming.

It’s not like Bow and Glimmer were the only Horde superfans out there, and, like, if they could give her a run-down on everything she missed since leaving Weaver’s, what’s preventing others from channeling the same level of detective?

Nothing apparently. 

_adora.ble_ when you bring @kyle2419, @catra_strophe and your brother @he-manatee to a baseball game and THEY become the show

_bow_n_arrow_ goals 

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_sugar &honey33 _ oml brotp

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_hordecadet_ okay but are we just going to ignore that the writer joining them is some chick named ADORA whose brother just casually meets them like it’s nbd?? #killingkind like hello 

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She just wanted to share the picture she took. She honestly didn’t think her brother being in it would tip people off. 

So far, there had only been a few _that’s weird_ or _what a coincidence_ comments on the stuff she’s shared for Brightmoon, but this was the first post she did on her private account. Is that what did her in? Adora didn’t even realize that many Horde fans were _following_ her. Now she’s turning off all notifications for social media, panicking in the parking lot of a reststop while Scorpia is on the phone with Hordak, the band is fielding calls from reporters, Glimmer is talking with (yelling at) Angella, and Bow and Perfuma are trying to calm her down while she paces. 

“Think soothing, peaceful thoughts--”

“Yes! Peaceful! Pretend you’re on a beach ten thousand miles away from civilization!” Bow’s voice cracks.

Perfuma takes a deep breath, gathering her composure to continue forward with her zen yoga master whatever thing she does when people are upset. “Let’s stay _calm_ , alright? How about--”

“ _So_ calm, Adora. You can do this!”

“ _Y_ _es_ , she can. I think we should give her--”

“A hug? I’m on it!” He rushes forward but cuts an inch short of her before pausing. “Wait is that okay? Should I hug you or do you need space?”

But Adora is already pacing away from him, trying not to pull her hair out of her skull while Swifty follows her, whining. 

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“This is certainly inconvenient,” Perfuma agrees, “but it’s not the end of the world. You can get through this, Adora. Maybe we could try--”

“How come we didn’t think of this? Why didn’t we consider that this could happen?” Bow interrupts, raising his arms and eyebrows into the air. 

“I was so excited about the opportunity that it never crossed my mind,” Adora sputters out, rapid-fire. “Now what? It’s not like we can tell them it’s not _me_ ; that’s a huge lie! Fuck, it’s not a secret we can keep forever so we can’t just try and Bill Clinton them for now. It’s prolonging the inevitable! But this is totally taking away from the tour and it’s not fair to the band, or Dragon’s Daughter, and shit, this is probably _so_ much extra stress that they don’t need when their popularity is rising because _wow_ that is a lot of pressure and this could totally blow up and overshadow their actual like musical talent and what they’re trying to do and oh my god, what if this impacts the Black Garnet?”

Adora’s eye-sight gradually gets blurrier, her head getting dizzier, but her feet keep moving despite the vertigo that’s encasing her entire being and shit, she’d probably stumble off onto the interstate if not for Perfuma’s hands gripping her shoulders and holding her steady and _oof, sudden stops don’t feel good. Don’t barf on good friend don’t barf on good friend don’t barf_ \--

“Bow, why don’t you check on Glimmer? Adora and I are going to step away for a bit and sit down,” she suggests kindly but there’s definitely an edge to her voice that says _do what I say and don’t ask questions_.

“Right! Got it!” And he literally _sprints_ toward the pink-haired girl.

Perfuma gives her a few moments to gather her bearings before they step away, going to almost the other side of the lot and into the grassy area. 

Luckily, the weather is pleasant so she’s not roasting or sweating up a storm, though the grass does feel itchy on her bare legs. She doesn’t realize that she’s scratching, nonetheless how _hard_ until Swifty digs his nose under her fingers for her to scratch him instead. His fur is soft and pleasant to the touch so Adora finds herself running her hands down the length of his body. Swiftwind seems pleased but probably mostly because she’s found a better use for her hands than the self-destruction her skin was previously submitted to. He licks the side of her face almost motherly and it’s kind of gross but she really doesn’t care.

Spinerella must be channeling the same motherly vibes because after her, Perfuma, and Swiftwind sit silently for several minutes, she’s there with a bottle of water and that soothing aura of hers. 

She takes it and downs half of it before slowing, feeling quenched once a fourth of the bottle is left. She feels kind of bad for not saying anything for a while after that, but they don’t push her either, so she knows they’re giving her time. Adora’s glad--her senses are still kind of overloaded and she’s not quite done grounding herself yet. 

“Thanks.” _Yikes my voice is hoarse_.

“Any time, hun.”

Adora sighs before laying fully down into the grass and it feels too reminiscent of the other day when she was barfing up her guts and Catra was comforting her. The pang the thought brings hits her a little too on the nail, right on her heart-- _what if this fucks things up for my friends? For Catra? For whatever we’re rebuilding?_ But she’s tired of her stomach churning and thankfully her mind is on the same page. It wipes itself clean for the next several moments, allowing her to completely shut everything out. Then again, that’s probably got a lot to do with a nudge from her anxiety meds but whatever; she’s just glad that it’s happening. 

Still, there’s a part of her heart that longs for the comfort only words can bring, so Adora opens her mouth.

“I can’t tell if I’m watching everything blow to pieces or the clean-up crew drag the bodies where people can’t see.”

She feels slender fingers grabbing her hand, drawing it into a lap before thumbs knead her palm. 

“Everyone’s working hard to make sure we nip this in the bud,” Spinerella speaks softly.

“Have a little faith. Just because it looks bad doesn’t mean it _is_ bad,” Perfuma adds on.

Adora frowns. “But if the ship is on fire, you should probably jump overboard.”

“We have no idea how big this fire actually is nor how much it’s going to damage.”

“Exactly,” Perfuma agrees. “There’s no sense in jumping when it could be something minor. Like a dumpster fire--smelly, smoky, but potentially not all that fiery.”

Adora snorts. _“_ _I'_ _m_ a dumpster fire.”

Perfuma’s fingers dig a little deeper into her hand, which feels _great_ , actually, and she can feel her limb melting into her friend’s lap.

“No, that’s just your love life.”

Adora opens her eyes and glares (pouts) at the speaker.

“Dear,” Spinerella chastises, clicking her tongue at Netossa as she plops down by Adora’s feet. 

Netossa just shrugs as if to say _I’m not wrong_. “Don’t sweat too much. Most of them are already off their phones. They’re just listening in as Scorpia, Catra, Glimmer, and Hordak pound out a game plan. Angella’s aware of the situation and--get this--is trusting Glimmer’s judgment on this. Probably because of Hordak’s involvement but still,” she says easily, face devoid of worry which immediately makes Adora calmer. 

“So it’s getting taken care of?”

“Yep,” she says, popping a bubble of gum. “We’ll probably have to be more careful moving forward. There’s going to be more restrictions on interviews with outside sources, I’ll bet. Might have to make some sort of statement.” Netossa pauses, giving her a relaxed smile. “But it’s going to be alright. You can stop whatever existential crisis you were having.” 

“Oh thank god,” Adora groans, trying to release her tension through her vocal chords. “Are they going to be awhile?”

Netossa shrugs again and Adora frowns.

“Well,” says, standing. “Whatever. I need to do something while we wait otherwise I’ll go crazy.”

“Don’t you want to relax?” 

Perfuma looks so earnest, but Adora channels her exasperation into her brows instead of telling her how much she literally _cannot_ relax to save her life.

“Oh. Okay.”

Adora gives her an apologetic look. “Swifty,” and the dog perks up. “Ball.”

She barely finishes the word before he’s taking off toward the buses. The stop is pretty dead but he still looks both ways before stepping into the lot and bolting into the tour bus. Some of the others watch him in his hurry, but the three on the phone don’t seem to blink an eye. When Swiftwind flies back to Adora with a ball in-mouth, a few of those standing over there follow. 

That’s how a game of fetch turns into a game of keep-away. Well, more like a version of hot-potato where you try to chuck the ball to the next person before the dog locks onto you and bowls you over, which is _very much so_ what he wants to do if the look of unrestrained joy and determination on his face is anything to go by. And there’s a few times where he nearly does--usually when Kyle fumbles with the toy, though Rogelio comes to his rescue by stepping in the way or grabbing the ball so Swifty changes targets. Bow has to dig his shoes into the ground once, using the dog’s own momentum to swing him out of the way instead of mow him over. Sea Hawk regularly comes close to being tackled--he’s actually trying to see how long he can chance it and Mermista is several feet away, cheering for Swiftwind to sack him. 

Perfuma probably comes the closest to kissing the dirt, though. 

Adora’s caught the flower-girl staring at Scorpia multiple times since the first instance, though the blonde blushes and actively avoids her every time she’s caught. _Probably because she knows I’m going to push her to talk to the hybrid._ Well, that or--what’s most likely at this point--drag Scorpia over there herself so Perfuma won’t choke because, _seriously_ , it’s getting ridiculous at this point.

While many of them have looked over to the other group to see if anything has changed, Perfuma _obviously_ has other intentions in mind. Like good God, the heart eyes aren’t subtle. They’re practically neon signs, practically _Vegas_ in the sockets of her friend. Like she looks at the scorpian-hybrid and the slot machine hits _jackpot!_ If Lonnie hadn’t given her mercy, shouting “Perfuma!” seconds before Swiftwind, who was almost directly under the ball, crashed into her, the girl would’ve been a goner. Adora has to give props to her killer reaction speed, though--as soon as the ball was in her hands, it was out, flying to the next person.

_Catra and I aren’t the only ones in the useless lesbian club around here._

“Yo guys,” _speak of the devil_. 

The Magicat is walking toward them and--

_Oh wow_.

_Crap_ , she’s looking especially cute today _calm down you fucking tomato stop it stop it_ , but, like, she _does_.

Adora had awoken to the mess on her phone so she hadn’t been able to properly look at the girl earlier. In all probability, it’s something she just threw on--skin-tight, cropped, maroon pants that have tears all down the thighs and knees, a black Dragon’s Daughter tour shirt which, first of all, she has one?? That’s kind of sweet. And second, literally Adora has the same shirt and uses it for _pajamas_ \--sharks and a scary, skeletal, underwater pirate? Not exactly Adora’s style, but Catra just looks so _cool_ in it? Fuck, it should be criminal to look so good in her friends’ band tee--oversized but pulled taut and tied in the back in a way that’s all _I make anything look good_ . And that hat? It’s just a black, distressed ball cap but Catra has her hair that’s not really long enough for a pony-tail pulled through the opening in the back and tied back, too, and her greyer tufts of hair hang loosely around her face but it’s a _look._

_Shit, where’s that water bottle--_

Ah.

Of course.

Because this is the perfect moment to throw the ball to Adora, who out of instinct catches the toy moments before disaster. 

Not that she sees it coming--she has to watch it happen through Catra’s changing expression: first determined, then eyes wide, then mouth open while Adora’s flying through the air, then lips quirking up as she hits the ground, then canines fully on display while she howls because she’s _laughing_ at _her_ because she wasn’t fucking paying attention and Swifty tackled her but _of course_ she has to look all fucking adorable while the air rushes out of Adora’s lungs due to the impact (mostly) and damn it all, _why do you treat me this way, God?_

“ _Idiota_ ,” Catra cackles but all Adora can do is pout while Swifty grabs the ball and happily trots off out of reach. 

“Shut-up,” she huffs, hastily getting to her feet. “So?”

Catra’s still laughing and now that she’s looking around, everyone else is, too, but the Magicat is trying to get a hold of herself. “S-so damage control is so far--so far so good. Scorpia’s updating our terms for future interviews and stuff. We’ve already got a ‘sensitive topics’ section but we’re going to explicitly state ‘Adora’ there, too. People are mostly wanting my response so I tweeted something that should shake them enough to smother the fire--”

“Which was?” Lonnie butts in, knowing that Catra was going to move on without elaborating.

The girl snorts. “The number of people named ‘Adora’ in the states. A little over a thousand, actually. I also told them to stop bullying _this_ Adora specifically and I, and the wording is hitting well. ‘Bully’ tends to get people to take a step back,” she shrugs. “Not technically a lie, but an immediate response with the dismissal and teeth they’d expect. We don’t want to blow things out of proportion otherwise they’ll know something’s up. But basically, it’s been taken care of for now. We can go over more details later today but we’ve got to get back on the road to Red Rocks. I’m going to take over driving while Scorpia works unless someone else is super eager to drive the thing.”

“His name is Patrick,” Entrapta inputs but everyone is otherwise silent.

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Catra mumbles. “I’ll apologize to him once I’m behind the wheel, ‘Trapta.”

“Good.”

And then Adora sits on the couch for hours, watching TV but not actually paying attention because as valiant as her meds are, so many thoughts and emotions have become trapped, thrumming under her skin that she feels like she’s lost in The Void ™. The buzzing feeling isn’t pleasant; it’s an energy she doesn’t really have the means to work off. Normally she’d go to the gym and go nuts, but the tour bus kind of gets in the way of that. She’s given her phone to Scorpia and Entrapta, too, so they can monitor her notifications--Scorpia wants to see if people are backing off and Entrapta is trying to graph the ‘data,’ aka the frequency of relevant replies, @s, or mentions from the initial spike to after Catra’s tweet--but regardless, that means she doesn’t have access to her phone to distract her. And writing something right now is a _terrible_ idea. Her brain and body are too much a mess for her to really do anything, so Adora sits uncomfortably, back ramrod straight as the others go about their business.

_This sucks_.

She wishes she had more hobbies. Maybe she could trade her phone for her laptop so she could play Pokemon Go? But would that mess them up? Adora’s not sure she has the ability to do a proper trade without interfering a lot so it might be more trouble than it’s worth.

And _fuck_ , if whoever is making all that god damn noise doesn’t shut up soon, her new hobby is going to be _murder_. 

For the first time in maybe an hour, Adora moves her head and finds Kyle struggling in the kitchen area, and he’s got coffee grounds (?) all over him.

“Oh jeeze,” he whines as a machine makes a loud keyboard smash sound, spraying dark liquid everywhere.

“Kyle what in the fucking hell are you doing?”

Adora’s ears split, hearing Catra vaguely from her spot behind the wheel and over the speaker of Kyle’s phone, propped on top of the coffee machine thing.

“It should be making espresso, not taking you to Mars. How the hell are you even getting it to make that noise? It should be practically silent!”

Kyle sighs and throws his head back, his hair flopping dramatically as he pouts. “Why am I like this?”

And it’s comical how much of a blunder whatever he’s doing is, but the teariness of his voice reminds Adora of a kicked puppy.

Catra must think the same thing because her voice comes softer through the phone. “It’s okay. Just clean up and restart.”

Adora doesn’t think twice before rising and walking over to the much smaller man’s side. 

“Hi, Adora.”

_Yikes, he sounds so defeated_.

“Can I help?”

“Please,” and he sounds so exasperated that she giggles when he pouts at her, giving her sad but hopeful eyes. 

“Hey, Adora,” Catra greets her over the phone, voice warm and pleasant to her ears. “Kyle’s trying to make caffè mocha.”

“Ah,” she says as if she actually knows what that is. 

Catra snorts, so she probably knows Adora _doesn’t_. “Do you know what a portafilter is? At this point, I’m not sure Kyle does.”

“Hey!” He barks back in offense but there’s a slight smile on his face. 

“No clue.”

“Well,” the Magicat starts, “it _should_ be attached to the machine. It’ll have a handle and kind of look like an ice cream scoop. It screws on, so lefty-loosey.”

“Okay,” Adora says, finding it pretty quickly, though it takes some effort to get it off since it was somehow screwed on at an angle. “Got it.”

“Good. Dump it out and clean it really well. Kyle, wipe down the machine.”

“Aye aye!” He perks up, eyebrows setting in determination.

_At least someone is in better spirits_.

“The grinder should be on the left hand side of the machine. When you’ve wiped the portafilter off, put it underneath the nozzle and push it back into the machine. There’s a button back there to release the grounds. You might have to tap it a little to get the grounds to settle so you can get more.”

“Okay,” Adora says again. “How much is enough?”

“There’s a scale underneath that I’m hoping is still zeroed to the weight of the portafilter.”

_Ah shit_ , but it appears like it is because it’s negative. “It’s good.”

“Fuck, sweet. You’ll want about 19 grams.”

Adora can’t help but think about how domestic this is. Like Catra’s her Youtube tutorial and Kyle is her kid, and she stifles a laugh at that, but he’s got such a childish wonder on his face as he watches her that she can’t help but think the thought. It’s kind of like back when they were younger, though Catra would be complaining and Kyle would be crying while Adora would be scrambling to fix things. This was more laid back, more mature though not without that light-feeling dynamic.

“Got it.”

“Okay. Even the grinds out before you take the tamp--Kyle grab the tamp--and press it down onto the grinds with only a little force.”

And so Adora does, and she also hooks it to the machine _properly_ this time after purging it, sets the timer, and lets the espresso drip quietly into a small cup for 25 seconds before removing it.

Steaming the milk is a little harder.

There are a lot of little details that Adora has to adhere to, so it takes her a couple tries to properly steam the milk without messing up the froth or scorching it.

When it comes to compiling the components for the drink, Kyle happily jumps in. He’s supposed to add an _equal_ amount of chocolate syrup to the espresso, but he definitely adds more. He tries to pour the steamed milk on his own but Catra suggests that Adora do it so that they don’t potentially have to start the process over again. Kyle relents, only a little grumpy, and Adora follows Catra’s instructions to properly pour the milk. 

She’s finding there’s a lot of wrong ways to do coffee and very specific _right_ ways that she doesn’t quite care for, but it’s worth it to make Kyle happy.

And happy is an understatement. 

He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, skipping from the fridge to the counter to add a large dollop of whipped cream to the top and some sprinkles “because why not!” and Adora and Catra just chuckle softly at him.

“Thank you guys so much! Sorry for bothering you while you’re driving, Catra.”

Catra snorts. “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Bye!” Kyle says it so loudly that the Magicat can probably hear him off-speaker at the front of the bus but he clearly doesn’t care as he takes a long drink from the mug. “Sweet, sweet victory,” and his voice cracks between ‘vic’ and ‘tory.’

“So it’s good, then?”

He doesn’t say anything, just thrusts the mug in her face toward her lips so she can take a sip, and she raises her eyebrows at his eagerness but once it’s on her tongue _wow, that’s actually not bad_.

Her facial reaction must say it all because Kyle hums, carefully pouring half the drink into another cup without spilling more than a few drops, offering it to her.

Adora grins. “Thanks.”

And they’re silent while they drink, leaning against the counter amicably. Kyle finishes first and he closes his eyes, a soft smile on his face. Her last swallow is bittersweet because it’s the last swallow, but Kyle’s right--the effort was worth it.

“So,” Adora starts and he cracks open his eyes sleepily. “You’re a pretty big foodie.”

“Yep!” He agrees, grinning at her. “It started after college when Catra began cooking. She got better and better and my palette developed with it, I guess. I probably couldn’t eat a Big Mac if it were life and death now.”

“Shit,” Adora laughs. “McDonald’s is perfect drunk food, though.” 

Not that Adora is ever good enough to eat when she’s drunk; _fuck_ , she’s a mess. She can’t walk, talk, _not_ embarrass herself… She elects not to divulge that information.

“Maybe so, but flavor hardly matters when you’re intoxicated.”

“That’s fair. Unless we’re talking Doritos because then it matters _a lot_. Cool ranch is the superior Dorito and you cannot convince me otherwise.”

“Lower your voice,” Kyle laughs. “Catra _will_ fight with you about that.”

Adora guffaws. “Are you serious? I mean _maybe_ if it’s chile limón.”

He shakes his head. “Keep that to yourself. Catra will rant that those are just Takis rip-offs that don’t succeed. She _does_ like the Tapatío ones, though.”

She scoffs. “Whatever. And you? What do you think?”

Adora shouldn’t be so childish to be offended at the look of _pity_ he gives her but she’s already over-reacting before he even _speaks_.

“Catra’s right.”

Without even thinking about it, Adora wraps her arm around his head to trap him for the noogie she quickly delivers.

“Adora!” 

He’s crying out laughter, limbs useless in his plight to free himself from her grasp--something that ten years hasn’t changed one bit.

“Both of you are crazy,” she chuckles, releasing Kyle from his torture before cackling at his ruined, raised hair that product maintains upward.

He quickly tries to flat it down, tears trickling out of his eyes due to mirth. 

“You’re a buttface.”

“Oof,” Adora says dramatically, hand to chest. “You wound me.”

“Shut-up.”

“Jesus, what’s going on out here?” Lonnie says, exiting the bedroom at the back. “You guys are loud as fuck.”

“It’s Kyle’s fault,” Adora says without thinking.

“Hey!”

“Okay, but am I wrong?”

He opens his mouth to retort but when he pauses to think, it’s answer enough.

“Christ,” Lonnie chuckles before looking at Kyle. “We’re going to take a nap if you wanna join.”

“Yes!” Kyle grins, yawning like it’s much later in the evening. “Let me just clean up first. Adora,” he says, reaching for her cup. “I’ve got this. Thanks for helping me!”

She snorts. “Anytime.” 

She takes a minute to look at the TV, thinking about what she’s going to do now. 

Adora _could_ sit back down and continue to fry her eyes but she’s also not sure if ‘nap’ is actually a ‘ _nap_ ’ and really doesn’t want to find out the hard way. So, she could go upstairs and take her own nap (like an actual nap, but without Catra, which wait-- _Catra._ _No brain; stop right there! We are NOT going there, BYE)_. Adora could also see if there’s anything to do on her computer but maybe she should check-in with Scorpia and Entrapta first? _Yeah, that’s a good idea._ It’d be good to know if the buzz was actually dying down or not, and when Kyle finishes washing things off and heads into the bedroom, Adora’s feet immediately start moving _away_.

Scorpia greets her when she approaches.

“Hey, Adora! Good news--Entrapta says it looks like the data has reached its peak and is in the recline!”

“Decline,” the purple-haired girl cuts in.

“Oh, right! My bad.”

“Another peak is possible but we’re only seeing numbers in the hundreds--approximately 143 relevant tweets and that’s for the last two hours and thirty...four minutes. I’ll have to check other social media and news networks to be sure that this is universally declining, though. My data collecting has focussed solely on Twitter because it was the source, but now I’ll have to--”

And Adora definitely checks out for the rest of it but she doesn’t want to be rude. Entrapta almost always has a slight smile on her face but she becomes so animated when she’s talking about her techy stuff. How could Adora shut that down? Obviously, the answer is she can’t, so she stands there and nods occasionally, watching Emily scuttle through the purple hair, over the desk, back up Entrapta’s shoulders and onto Scorpia’s pincer. 

“--so now I can work from my computer.”

Her phone is thrust into her hands and she jumps.

“Entrapta, you’re so smart! Great work!” Scorpia giggles, booping noses with Emily. 

“I know.”

“You too, Scorpia,” Adora adds, nearly jumping again in surprise when the scorpian-hybrid looks back at her with eyes comically wide and mouth open.

“Really?”

“Of course! You were a big part in fixing things. I really appreciate it.”

The girl blushes, rubbing the back of her head. “Well I guess I did, but you should thank Catra, too. I mostly just followed orders.” Her face starts to get a little warmer and she speaks again before Adora can respond. “So what are the others up to? Anything fun? Anything c-ool,” she rushes, breaking up the last word and trying to lean casually into the side of her bunk but fumbling, nearly falling in.

“Uh, they’re taking a nap.” _Maybe_.

“Oo! That sounds like a good idea! Boy, am I tired! Thanks for thanking me, Adora.” And she gives up righting herself to plop onto the mattress. “I’m gonna do that now. Nap, that is.”

“Oookay,” Adora says, awkwardly turning around after Scorpia pulls her curtain shut. 

When she’s faced the other way, she makes eye contact with Kadroh, who’s laying on his stomach with his chin in his hands and giving her a cheerful look.

“Would you like to discuss theories of existence with Entrapta and I?”

_Yikes, abort abort think of an excuse!_

“Uh--”

“Reality being a simulation is highly debatable existentialism, Kadroh. I think you should give multiverses more consideration.”

“Ah, but Entrapta, what hard evidence do we have for infinite universes? My theory can reference the Mandela effect, electrons behaving as waves _and_ particles, the fact that we have never found proof of aliens--if your hacking can’t crack government secrets, I have no doubt that our inability to find them is proof that they have escaped the simulation and we haven’t. And that doesn’t even begin to cover the absurdity of recent world politics, nor that somehow a cheeto has become president--”

“A cheeto is a snack, not a form of living being.”

“My,” Kadroh says, voice low and smoky. “If he’s a snack then I must be fine dining.”

_Oh good god._

Adora nearly panics and flings herself up the ladder to the second level but before she can make the full rotation to face it, her eyes stop at the front of the bus and Scorpia’s words echo in her head.

_“You should thank Catra, too!”_

Adora blushes a little as she stares, the Magicat reflected in the windshield, scowling as one hand pushes down an ear.

_Guess she isn’t a fan of these debates. Maybe she’d like a distraction?_

And maybe she’d rather have peace and quiet, but Adora wants to try anyway. 

She’d be lying to herself to say she doesn’t constantly crave the girl’s presence. Conversing with Catra is _amazing_ \--it’s the type of comfortable banter Adora didn’t realize she was missing. The poking fun at the other, the arguing about stupid things half-heartedly, the late nights in bed, heart too full to sleep, spilling open through the cracks as the darkness provides that extra feeling of safety to talk about the _deep_ stuff that’s too hard to bring up during the daylight. 

She’s learned so much about Catra during those conversations. So many stories shared--their times at university, adjusting to life with Adam, Catra’s train-hopping adventures (which she admitted that she still went on occasionally.

_The Magicat’s laugh echoes through her ears, making her heart race._

_“You think you can hang, princess? Please, you’d get me caught instantly.”_

_“Would not! I can be sneaky, too.”_

_Catra snorts. “A couple nights trying to sleep on a moving freighter and your neck and back would be busted, you’d be stinky, sleep-deprived, and complain so loudly that the bull would hear you hundreds of feet away.”_

_“Yeah, whatever. I still think you should take me sometime.”_

_She seems to consider the thought for a moment before responding. “Okay,” she agrees softly. “But only because I can outrun you so you’d get caught and not me.”_

_“Hey!”_

_“Get off, you oaf! NO! No tickling! Uncle, you pendejo, uncle!”_ )

They haven’t gotten to the dark stuff--the questions that burn in the place in Adora’s heart where the guilt and sadness of what the Magicat went through when they were separated hide. But they’re opening up more and more. She can feel it. But she’s going to be patient; Catra deserves that much and more.

“Hey, Catra,” Adora says, leaning against the railing to face her.

The other sighs. “Hey, Adora. Not of fan of debating stupid things with smart people?”

She snorts. “No, not really.”

“If I have to listen to that, I’m probably going to end up crashing the bus. Rogelio said he’d take over driving at our next stop. I’m thinking dinner _right now_.”

She laughs, watching as Catra’s face morphs into a grin that’s both irritated--lips slightly curled, canine poking out--and amused--the corners of her mouth raised and face relaxing as Adora laughs. 

“I’d eat out of a dumpster if it meant stopping _that_ from continuing.”

“Sometimes dumpsters are gold mines, though. People throw away the craziest shit.”

_God, do her fans even know how much of a hobo she is?_

“How you never got botulism is beyond me, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“Shut-up and find us a place to stop and then tell everyone, alright?”

Adora shakes her head, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Tell everyone we’re eating garbage? On it,” she snickers, pushing off the railing to call Glimmer and Bow and decide together. 

“Hey, Adora?”

She stops, twisting her head around to see Catra’s wrinkled brows and otherwise blank face in the reflection.

Adora frowns. “Yeah?”

“You probably have more questions to ask, right? Y’know, for Brightmoon?”

The quick shift makes her freeze for a second and Adora nearly walks back to face her so she can read her expression.

_I probably should interview her again, but why does she sound so weird about it?_

“Yeah,” she replies hesitantly.

“Do you want to ask them upstairs after?” The Magicat’s voice wavers on ‘upstairs.’

_Definitely weird_.

“Sure? No, yeah. Sure, that sounds good.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m gonna go do the thing now, so uh talk to you later?”

_What the fuck_.

“I don’t understand what was so weird about it. It was probably just awkward to bring up,” Glimmer says through the speaker.

Adora groans into a pillow--Catra’s pillow--and it smells like wild awapuhi and morning dew. It’s delicious and soothing, but it catches her between a rock and a soft place (?) because she wants to melt into it but it also reminds her of the Magicat who was just really _weird_ so _ugh_.

“But Catra isn’t like that when she’s feeling awkward--if anything, she’s more aggressive. It was more like she felt, I dunno, uncomfortable? Like in an insecure way.”

“It is weird that she specified ‘upstairs,’” Bow chimes in.

“That’s what I thought!” Adora sighs.

Glimmer _hmms_. “Maybe _she_ has something she wants to tell you or ask you? And wants privacy.”

Adora frowns. 

“Could be,” Bow agrees. “Maybe she’s got some things to say about the Twitter thing? Something between you and her cuz, like, y’know--her whole lyrical history and you’re alive and all that.” 

“That makes sense but _ugh_! I don’t know if I should minor panic or major panic. It’s gotta be somewhat sensitive if she asked for privacy and it makes _total_ sense that it’d be something about the Twitter shit, but what if it’s not? Fuck, even what if it is? Catra could have some _huge_ bad news.” She gasps, “oh my god what if she tells me that there needs to be more space between us? What if I have to move to your bus? I swear to god I will fight every fan girl, boy, neither, or all of the above who would _dare_ get in the way of me sharing a bed with her and talking till three am or waking up in the morning to see her all curled up and soft and--”

Adora may or may not squeeze Catra’s pillow in her arms and take a large, angry breath of the Magicat’s scent.

_If I’m leaving this bus I’m taking the pillow with me._

“Yikes, relax, okay? We’ve all freaked out enough for one day, right? And we’re definitely ignoring the fact that this could be _good_ news,” Bow says.

Adora can feel Glimmer’s teasing tone bother the goosebumps on her arms. “Oh, Adora! I like you even though you snore! Stay in my bed forever! 

“Or would it be furrever?” Bow suggests.

Glimmer gasps. “Purrever?”

“Meower?”

“Too far, Bow.”

Adora pouts but smiles. “You guys are awful.”

“You love it.”

“Seriously, though. Bow’s right. And whatever it is, you can handle it! You’re a big girl.”

“I’m a big girl,” Adora echoes Glimmer.

“The exit’s coming up, but we’ll be with you between now and then to distract you, okay? No panicking; the best friend squad has your back!”

“Right,” she sighs in agreeance. 

_No panicking._

She could do that, right? 

Adora’s almost barfed up her burrito while eating it three times.

Her friends said _eat_ , so even though she’s queasy, she ordered food. She took a bite and her stomach said _no_ , but they said _yes_ and it’s been a tug of war between pleasing her friends and not puking since. 

The laminated booth is sticky against her back--mostly because she’s sweating. The restaurant is air conditioned but the food comes out steaming hot, lifting from their plates and into Adora’s face. She takes her iced water and puts it against her forehead, letting it cool her while she fumbles with the straw in her mouth, trying to drink simultaneously. She can vaguely tell that the burrito is good though she’s mulched the meat into mush while she slowly eats, turning it into a paste more apt for McNuggets. It’s spicy, it’s juicy, it’s probably flavorful, but it’s mostly dead on her tongue as her tummy and mind rage.

“What’s her deal,” Mermista says, scooting into the booth.

“She’s--” Glimmer starts.

And Bow interrupts, giving that obviously fake, casual smile of his. “--feeling a little under the weather. Stressful day and all that.”

Mermista raises an eyebrow. “You know the school bus isn’t all that private, right? I can piece what I heard together.”

Adora whines and Bow winces.

“Chill out,” she says, lifting her cup upward, holding the straw and taking a long sip. “At least _one_ of you has to relax.”

Adora had closed her eyes but she now cracks one open to stare at her friend again. “What do you mean?”

Mermista rolls her eyes. “I mean that both of you are freaking out and I’d rather hear that the talk went well than you guys were both so nervous that you threw up on each other.”

Glimmer leans over the table to look across the restaurant where Catra sits nestled against the wall in a booth with Scorpia, Netossa, and Spinerella. The others follow her line of sight and see that Netossa is making eye-contact. When she sees that she has their attention, she widens her eyes and lifts her brows quickly, nodding her head toward the Magicat.

And Catra looks like she’s about to take off. Her foot is tapping rapidly under the table, face green and smushed into her hand. The entire booth is shaking with her movements but it doesn’t look like the others have commented on it. Rather, Scorpia and Spinerella are engaged in conversation while the Magicat is zoning out, mumbling a few words when addressed, but she’s otherwise clenched tautly and ready to snap.

“She’s, like, _definitely_ more nervous than you, so maybe don’t freak out.”

Adora chews on the inside of her cheek. “And how do you know that?”

The blue-haired girl snorts. “Other than basic observation skills? She asked Netossa and I for advice. We, like, know the _now_ you better than she does I guess.”

Before Adora can respond, the other interrupts her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, so seriously--relax. I know you’re practically allergic but try for her, alright?” 

She’s a little surprised that Mermista said the thing she’s been telling herself for weeks, but Adora’s glad to hear it--sometimes thinking thoughts doesn’t hit the same as someone else verbalizing them.

“Yeah, of course,” she says, releasing a long exhale. “Anything for her.”

Mermista’s eyes soften, and it surprises her again to see that rare look on the other’s face.

_Has she come to care for Catra that much?_

The blue-haired girl puts her hand over Adora’s, giving it a squeeze. Her eyes morph into something more determined, encouraging, and then she lifts from her seat, walking back to her table with Sea Hawk.

Adora smiles, embracing the look herself.

_She cares for_ us _that much._

And her heart swells--she’s got such great friends and she’s glad she can share them with Catra. 

Adora sits back, succeeding in releasing some of the tension in her shoulders. She takes a bite of her burrito and looks over to the Magicat’s table to see the other staring back.

Catra’s eyes widen in shock but she doesn’t look away and neither does Adora, who pauses for a moment before smiling back--unfortunately with teeth, forgetting the food in her mouth. She can feel the beans on her gums and quickly shuts her lips, but Catra’s already noticed and she’s tensed--then relaxed, giving her a soft smirk that says _you dork._

Adora chuckles, covering her mouth and the other rolls her eyes, moving her gaze back to her own table, though her face looks a lot softer.

Glimmer snorts and Adora looks up, brows furrowed.

The other girl has a hand covering her face but she’s still clearly laughing at her, eyes crinkled with mirth and shoulders tensed and shaking.

“What?”

Bow snorts too and then her friends look at each other, maintaining eye contact for no more than five seconds before completely losing it, hunched over each other and crying.

Adora pouts. “Seriously, what?”

Glimmer wipes her face as tears continue to fall. “You’re--you’re such a fucking lesbian.”

Bow slaps the table, making their drinks slosh slightly out of their cups. “So’s Ca-tra,” he chuckles.

“For real, how can you make heart eyes with refried bean teeth? You guys a-are fucking hopeless.”

“Typically I wouldn’t say get a room because it’s cute but--” Bow’s face turned slightly painful as his laughter gets so hard it starts to hurt his face and stomach.

Glimmer’s in the same boat, now crying out dry tears, but she finishes the thought. “--that was _actually_ disgusting.”

“And she still returned heart eyes!”

Adora's face flushes red, but she knows they got her so she just shoves her burrito in her mouth and mumbles half-hearted insults under her breath. 

“She didn’t even look at me like _that_ ,’ she grumbles, making sure her lips were clear of beans before speaking.

At first Adora doesn’t think anything of the silence that follows, but when she next looks up to see them half-angry, half-incredulous she realizes she should’ve. 

“Really?

“Wow. Truly a lost cause.”

Adora feels the heat rush down her neck and she squeezes the remaining stub of burrito too hard, filling gushing out. “Shut-up.”

“She can’t even back-up her denial.”

“Like I said-- _such_ a lesbian.”

“Ugh!” Adora complains, pouting and rising from the booth. “You guys are the worst.” 

Bow and Glimmer giggle. 

“Lies.”

“You loooove us!”

“Whatever!” But Adora can’t even say it without smiling. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

Bow’s stuck an extra straw through a napkin, making a flag, which he’s drawn on with crayons from the kid’s menu he snagged. “You’ve got this!” He cheers, waving the flag.

“Wait,” Adora narrows her eyes. “Does that say ‘catradora?’”

“It’s your ship name,” Glimmer responds confidently, clapping her hands together excitedly.

“Glimmer, you can’t ship real people,” Adora guffaws.

“There’s an exception to every rule.”

“You guys are in that middle stage that’s, like, delicious but _painful_ , y’know?” Bow says bubbily. “Like the growth is lovely to watch and like major props to you for being so patient, but we can’t help that Glimmer and I are five steps ahead of you and we just _really_ want you to catch up so we can get to that _good_ hurt already.”

Adora’s scowl is so deep her face hurts. “This is me reminding you _again_ that we’re real people, and this is me walking away before you can respond so I can be done with this conversation so byeee!”

“We’re on this ship whether you like it or not!”

“Ship?” Sea Hawk perks up, pulling a lighter from his pocket.

Mermista groans, smacking it out of his hand and he pouts. 

Adora grimaces and quickly walks away. 

When she turns around, she sees that Lonnie’s table is getting up too. 

Kyle’s got stars in his eyes while he eats a concha, blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he stares locked onto the pastry. Rogelio’s got an arm around his shoulders, guiding him while he tries to continue the animated conversation he’s having with one hand. Perfuma’s patient, though, nodding her head attentively and looking to Lonnie when she helps clarify some things he’s saying. She’s got that kind smile on her face, listening one-hundred percent while Lonnie neatly stacks their plates for the waitstaff. They’re talking about plants--which, _of course they are_ \--but specifically cacti which are Perfuma’s _least_ favorite plant, though Rogelio’s trying his best to convince her that they’re misunderstood.

Adora finds herself floating over to them as they slowly move toward the exit, finding her grin stretching into shit-eating as another table of friends rises, heading to leave right behind them.

Perfuma sees her approach and smiles but hesitates once she notices the nature of Adora’s countenance. Adora laughs under her breath, calculating her approach so that she meets them at the right moment.

“Cacti are the best! They remind me of home. Oh man, what my exoskeleton wouldn’t give for some hot, dry weather,” Scorpia says, gleefully entering the conversation and making the tall blonde nearly jump out of her skin.

“I bet,” Adora says, stopping in front of Perfuma to block her escape. “Say Scorpia, are you a fan of dance?”

The others give her a strange look at the random subject change, but Perfuma blushes madly and Scorpia answers unperturbed. 

“Oh boy, yes! Waltzing is fun, though hard with the, well, you know--” she says, snipping her pincers. “--these guys. I’ve always wanted to learn how to tango. It looks so cool! And fun!”

_Hook_.

Perfuma’s cheeks have reddened to her ears.

“Wow, the _tango_? Gosh, what are the chances,” she says, making eye contact with Perfuma, channeling all the _you got this_ she can into her gaze. “Did you know Perfuma teaches dance? She also teaches yoga, runs a community garden for her apartment complex, and surfs during the summer. She’s like,” Adora gently grabs her friend's hand, pulling her to stand by her side in front of the scorpion-hybrid, “ _really_ good. I bet she could teach you!”

Scorpia’s happy face stretches wider into a look that’s truly ecstatic. 

_Line_.

“Really? That would be _amazing_. Yoga sounds fun, too! We should try sometime! And gosh, that sounds like a lot of plants! I tried growing tomatoes once but it didn’t go very well. I have a lot of succulents but I always forgot to water the toms and they died because, you know, they _need_ that. And where do you surf? I know I don’t look it, but I’m actually a _huge_ surfer dudette! I went to South Africa during my last college spring break and _wow_ \--I probably almost drowned four times but it was _totally_ worth it.”

_Sinker_.

“Uhh--” Perfuma freezes, eyes wide staring at the glowing face of the taller woman in front of her. 

Adora elbows her side and she jolts. “Uh, yes! Yes I could teach you. And do yoga. And give you gardening tips! And, uh, I grew up in Maui, so mostly there.”

“Wow, that’s _so_ cool. Is it a shame I’ve never been?”

Adora puts her hands behind the two women’s backs and walks forward a bit with them, guiding them toward the exit of the restaurant. Luckily, they continue the momentum, moving onward and chatting enthusiastically. 

She smirks and pats herself on the back. “I’ve wanted to do that for _weeks._ ”

A few people laugh as they walk past her. Kyle’s just now finishing the pastry, so he’s clueless as his partners chuckle, but Netossa high-fives her and another person stops to her side, snorting once.

“That was a little painful but it had to be done.”

_Catra_.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just here doing God’s work,” Adora says, putting her arms behind her head.

The Magicat digs her elbow into her ribs. “Don’t get cocky.”

Adora lurches forward, trying to protect the ticklish area she previously left vulnerable with a laugh. 

“Is it illegal to be proud of my work?” She quirks an eyebrow at Catra as she holds the door open for her.

Catra rolls her eyes as she passes. “Your ‘work’ was the equivalent of making a pb and j.”

“Ah,” Adora says, dramatically throwing her arm over the other’s shoulders. “A classic combo. They go perfect together.” She smirks. “Who thought you’d be cheesy enough to use that metaphor?”

“Please,” Catra huffs. “I’m not _lame_ , _idiota._ ”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

The Magicat ducks under the arm and crosses her leg in front of Adora’s, making her stumble.

She nearly biffs it--her foot catching on the broken concrete of the parking lot--but she manages to right herself just in time to save herself.

“Mature, much?” She says, but she’s not one to talk; Adora’s already shifting her body, moving into position to sprint toward the other for revenge.

Catra’s not blind, though, so she takes notice. She sticks out her tongue before moving to bolt away in an attempt to put extra distance between them.

Yet Adora’s already accounted for that. She knows she can’t beat Catra in a footrace on equal ground; the girl’s just too fast. However, the parking lot is anything but equal. Actually, it’s a bit of a crackled mess. All Adora has to do is take off at the right moment so the Magicat spins around too fast and trips over the uneven concrete. 

And _bingo_ \--Catra does just that, releasing a startled yelp as she falls.

Adora laughs as she grabs her from behind, wrapping her arms around her slender waist and saving her from her impending faceplant. She lifts her into the air, giggling as she struggles.

“ _¡_ _Bájame, pendejo!”_ Catra growls, but she doesn’t miss her soft chuckling either. “ _¡_ _Juro por Dios, Adora!_ ”

“Did you say ‘don’t let go? _Lo siento._ _Mi español es malo._ ” 

Adora’s Spanish _is_ rusty to be fair, but language barrier or not, she still knows what the girl is saying--anyone would in this situation. That doesn’t mean she’s actually going to listen, though.

“ _Idiota,_ ” the other hisses before turning in her arms.

And for a moment, Adora freezes, noticing how close their faces are, how nice it is to hold the Magicat. It’s a stake to the heart she wasn’t expecting, and the surge of affection that follows is like a bucket of water being dumped on her head. She can feel her body heat, her lithe muscles protesting against Adora’s toned ones, and can see the light dusting of freckles hidden under the fur on her face. The setting sun casts remnants of purple and orange light over them, shimmering in Catra’s blue and gold eyes that always seem to sparkle in the sun.

She’s so stricken that her hold loosens just a bit, allowing Catra to maneuver and come _closer_ to her face, and she stops breathing--

“Yuck!”

Catra glides her slightly rough tongue up Adora’s cheek, leaving a slobbery mess behind.

It’s enough for Catra to escape, cackling while Adora wipes the saliva off her face.

“ _Chúpame la verga,_ ” she taunts, grinning openly and widely. 

Adora’s heart is both thundering and stuttering so all she can manage is a half-hearted “jerk.”

The Magicat smirks at her before turning around, sashaying her hips and unknowingly making Adora blush as she struts away. She cockily stops at the bus, raising an eyebrow at her still friend while her teeth glint in the wideness of her grin.

“You coming, loser?”

Inside her head, Adora grumbles some half-flustered, half-miffed thoughts about Catra playing dirty and also playing _dirty_. 

“Whatever.”

When Adora enters the bus, she hears that Kadroh and Entrapta haven’t changed topics. Rogelio makes eye contact with her and growls, so Adora laughs but quickly shuffles to the main area; she’s not listening to another second of that _\--sorry, pal_.

Once there, she’s shocked to find that Perfuma is too, apparently continuing her conversation with Scorpia who’s still rattling away despite the new company.

Perfuma blushes at Adora’s questioning face, but Kyle saves her from explanation.

“Adora! Did you try any of their baked goods?”

Catra’s at his side, hip cocked and an amused expression on her face.

“Uh, no. I didn’t.”

Immediately, Kyle pouts angrily. His cheeks redden while his jaw sets and lips pull tightly together, but it’s more cute than intimidating.

“I can’t believe you two,” he grumbles, grabbing a paper bag and reaching into it. He pulls out two conchas--one a soft pastel pink and the other yellow--and shoves them into their hands.

“Please tell me you at least got the horchata.” 

Catra shrugs under his unwavering gaze. “I stole some of Scorpia’s.”

Adora grins sheepishly. “I had water?” She wavers on the last word, unsure of his reaction since he apparently felt so strongly about this.

“Ugh!” He throws his hands in the air with a squeak. “ _Fools_. Get out of my sight.”

The Magicat quirks surprised eyebrows, laughing under her breath. 

When Kyle’s shoulders tighten and he walks past them, Catra’s eyes widen further, mouth dropping open as she chuckles breathily, definitely as stunned as Adora.

“Jeeze,” Adora huffs, “I didn’t know I was sinning when I ordered.”

“I sin just by existing but I know what you mean. Fuck, I’ll just let him order for me next time if he’s gonna be so offended by my free will.”

“For real,” Adora chuckles, patting her leg for Swifty, who’s melting under Perfuma’s hands, to come to her.

He seems reluctant to leave the pets, drooping his head and slowly padding his way over, but he comes nonetheless. Adora rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to take him out before we take off,” She explains, excusing herself from the Magicat though she _really_ would rather stay in her presence regardless of the departure’s briefness.

“Oh,” she says, posture deflating slightly. Her eyes flare wider, showing more of her iris before she clears her throat and puffs herself back up a little. “I mean okay. I’ll just wait for you upstairs, then?”

_Oh_. 

Adora swallows, remembering their earlier conversation.

“Right, yeah. Cuz I have--uh--totally have questions to ask you about--” she looks around, trying to think of something to ask her about ( _literally anything, Adora!_ ) but comes up dry for inspiration so she settles for a lame “--stuff?”

Catra’s standing awkwardly tall, chest forward and shoulders back but her left arm crossed over her midsection, playing with the longer fur that extends slightly from her elbow.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll just,” she gestures, “head up there.”

“Awesome,” Adora spits out and immediately wants to facepalm but Catra’s watching so she just abruptly about faces, walking out of the bus instead.

She goes around the front of the bus where the upper level can’t see and puts her head in her hands while Swift Wind relieves himself.

“Seriously, Adora? ‘Awesome?’ As fucking if.”

She throws her head back dramatically and the action makes her feel like Kyle.

“No theatrics,” she tells herself determined but then whimpers because she doesn’t want to have to leave the bus--not just because of Catra, but because of the others, too. She likes the closeness too damn much. The little interactions, little conversations. Adora’s been without those for _ten years_ and she doesn’t want a bunch of strangers to harass them apart. She doesn’t want the band to be negatively affected either so it takes all of her willpower not to pull her hair out in frustration or, like, go for a run. Honestly, she’s so pent up she could run the entire way to Red Rocks and probably beat them there, but that would probably make Catra feel like she’s running from _her_ and not to expel the buzzing of her body, so _ugh_.

And shit, this is _not_ the mindset or attitude Mermista was talking about.

_C’mon, Adora. Good thoughts, good thoughts._

She decides to make a list--things she can say about this situation to get herself to focus. It’s like how she used to center herself for soccer games. When everything felt overwhelming, she’d remind herself of her skills--because she _was_ skilled even if she didn’t meet her personal standards--and her weaknesses, but word them in a way to make her aware of them yet not berate herself. Wrecking her own psyche was _not_ good as a team captain and it’s not good for her now.

“Okay,” she mumbles out loud. “One: I’m willing to do literally whatever it takes.”

Somewhere in the back of her mind Adora hears Catra call her desperate with warm eyes. 

“Two: I’ve done a really good job being patient,” and she actually pats herself on the back for that.

“Three: it’s hard to listen to what she went through without getting, like, mentally, emotionally, _physically_ stressed.”

_“And what can you do about that?”_ Her therapist Dr. Hope asks in her head.

“I can...ground myself and um, ask Catra for a moment if I need it.” 

Catra would understand if she did, so that’s a good idea.

“Four--”

“Adora!”

And she actually yelps in surprise, turning rapidly to face the loud, shrill voice.

It’s Entrapta, one prehensile pig-tail leaning the top part of her torso out of the bus.

“Time to go,” the purple-haired girl says, going back inside without waiting for a response.

Adora sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “C’mon, Swifty.”

  
  


“So,” Adora starts, palms sweating and actually dampening her notebook paper. “What’s your creative process like?”

Catra looks equally as nervous, though she’s putting on a heavy facade of _no-I’m-not._

Her lips are smirking, trying to seem nonchalant, but posture is tight and her tail flicks about, giving her away. She avoids eye contact, pretending to be casually giving Melog attention when it’s obvious Melog is there to comfort _her_ , his large black form in her lap, snuggled up under her chin purring while she pets him. 

She’s leant back into the arm of the futon--actually leaning so much that it looks less like she’s making herself comfortable and more like she’s being sucked into the cracks by the cushions. And if the skittishness of her eyes gives anything away, it’s that maybe she’d prefer that right now.

Catra snorts in response to the question, quickly giving her a look like _wow, really?_ And Adora doesn’t blame her--literally all press under the sun have asked her that.

Despite her discomfort her response is easy--rehearsed in a way that makes Adora cringe because _yikes, she’s been asked that a lot_ and _why the fuck is that my first question._ But ugh, she asked readers what they wanted to know and they want to know this. _Again_. Whatever.

“It’s not something I can force. It comes and goes on its own, so when it’s here, I get pretty chaotic. I’ve written lyrics on napkins at bakeries--I actually have a drawer at home full of them--and tabs on my arms with Sharpie because that was the only thing near, and you have _no idea_ how hard that is to get out of fur. I actually wrote most of ‘sugar honey ice & tea’ on a tablecloth at the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been to.” 

Catra’s smirk eases, sitting more naturally on her face as she recalls the memory. “Like, this place is suit and tie, three Michelin stars fancy, and the band was there with some big shots at the record label as well as representatives from Ibanez and Zildjian, who were vying for sponsorship, and it all just came to me. I ended up stealing a pen from the goddamn _CFO_ and kicking everyone out to another table.”

Adora giggles, setting her notebook down. _This is new._ “You’re kidding me.”

The Magicat laughs widely, revealing her canines. “Not one bit. It started with marks in my spot, then into Kyle’s next to me. It was like I wasn’t even consciously there, but once I stood and took over Rogelio’s spot, Hordak had to cover my ass and get them to evacuate and leave me be. Luckily the execs weren’t that upset--they actually thought it was pretty awesome. I signed napkins with the main melody written out for them and ended up signing and gifting the tablecloth to the restaurant. The owner has it hanging there.”

Adora scoffs. “Of _course_ you did.”

Catra shrugs but looks completely pleased with herself. 

“Alright, multiple people also submitted this question: who would you most like to collab with?”

“I had a dream about this once,” the girl admits.

“The fuck,” Adora laughs and Catra does too.

“I know it’s weird but I had a dream that Hayley Kiyoko, Lynn Gunn, and I did a song together and it made lesbians so powerful we became our own political faction in the U.S.”

“Oh my God,” she cries. “I’d be alright with that. I guess that’s a good transition into _prvblemchild_ ’s question: if Hayley Kiyoko is lesbian Jesus, what does that make you?”

Her response is immediate. “Lesbian Satan.”

Adora guffaws. “What? You’ve thought about this haven’t you.”

And she definitely blushes a little but holds her head high. “I read a similar question awhile back, so yeah--I’ve thought about it.” 

Adora doesn’t miss the _idiota_ she mumbles under her breath.

“I’d ask you why but I really don’t want to hear it.”

“Aw, but the readers do,” Catra teases, narrowing her eyes.

“Well the readers can ask you on their own time. I’m not giving you the satisfaction of explaining,” she chuckles. “ _horder_the_ _1_ wants to know who inspired you to make music.”

And just like that, the weight of what this conversation is supposed to be comes back.

Catra stiffens, eyes going wide before drooping softly. She awkwardly bites her lip, head tucked down, and Adora can practically hear the battle taking place in the girl’s head. Honestly, she probably could if not for the heavy beating of her own heart.

By surrender or defeat, the battle is over when Catra lifts her gaze to meet Adora’s, and she holds her breath waiting for the answer.

“You,” she whispers.

Somewhere in her heart, mind, or both, Adora knew this already, but it doesn’t make the tingle that shivers down her spine any less disarming. If anything, it makes it stronger knowing that she already had the answer and Catra willingly said something so personal despite how hard it probably was to admit it aloud.

And yeah, her friends told her about Catra writing about her, but Adora knows her inherent knowledge didn’t come from there. It came from someplace else--someplace where hearing straight from Catra that Adora’s her inspiration is entirely different.

Adora swallows then clears her throat, already berating herself for not having the courage to ask the follow-up question that’s scratching apart her insides-- _why?_ \--and moving on to the next instead.

“ _forcecaptain56_ wants to know--”

And her heart might’ve actually stopped reading the question.

Catra furrows her brows at her but she’s too choked up, staring at her phone with lips split open and unable to say anything.

“Adora,” she prods softly. “What do they want to know?”

Her mouth is suddenly a desert, her lips made of sand as she brushes her tongue over them to try and provide a little moisture. It seems in vain, but she forces herself to read it out loud. She _wants_ to read it out loud--wants to know the answer so badly, just as much as the person who submitted it, though she hasn’t had the courage to ask it herself. She wants to have that courage now and not just hand the phone for Catra to read herself.

Adora takes a long breath in. “ _fo_ _rcecaptain56_ wrote in this: I lost my wife in an accident about a year ago. She’s been the love of my life since we were kids--kind of like you and Adora. What did you do after you lost her? I’m not sure how to move forward without her.”

Adora expects quiet, but the silence that follows is the kind you find in a graveyard on a still, late night: no wind ruffling the trees, no traffic coming by--just you and the dead. It scares her, makes her throat constrict and eyes afraid to lift and see what Catra’s speechlessness _looks_ like. She doesn’t want to see this cemetery mood reflected on her face--see headstones in her eyes and cracks in the worn stone. Catra’s killed and buried many terrible things and the reminder is chilling, raising the goosebumps on Adora’s arms.

She doesn’t look up until Catra speaks, which makes her jump. Seeing her face completely blank is like swallowing dry ice--a burning cold that falls into her center, reminding her of months ago when she saw the Magicat again for the first time in years. 

“Off the record,” she says in a monotone voice. “I’ll respond to them on my own time, but--” her voice cracks and she puts her face in her hands.

Adora’s short nails dig into her palms. “Off the record,” she confirms strained. 

The silence comes back and it makes Adora’s insides panic. Her fight or flight is kicking in, telling her _danger!_ like something’s about to creep up out of sight or jump out and she needs to defend herself. It makes her itchy in nervousness and her eyes jumpy, searching every detail of the Magicat and analyzing them. 

In this metaphor blanketing her growing unease, Adora should be looking everywhere for potential threats--monsters creeping out of the shadows and killers sneaking up behind her--but she doesn’t look anywhere but down, gaze fixed on the ground. If harm is coming from anywhere, it’s coming from the grave of Catra’s demons. 

“I just,” the Magicat starts and stops.

Her forehead is taut and troubled like someone is inside her skull winding the rope of her brain tighter and tighter, threads breaking apart due to the pressure. She looks just about to burst, and Adora wonders how long Catra’s hidden this pressure from her.

“It isn’t fair to you that I keep that time secret. Just pretend it never happened when it did, and I felt so much about _you_.” 

She groans and rubs her temples, struggling--maybe with words, maybe with other thoughts, emotions, memories, et cetera--but the turmoil is clear.

“Don’t get me wrong--having you here is... _so_ incredible. But having you taken away was so--” 

Her lips part, breath leaving but no other sound escaping. She seems to pale like the warmth has left her body and the tenseness her muscles had is gone, but she’s far from relaxed. It feels more like she’s given in as the shadows under her eyes darken and the colors become gray. She doesn’t look at her or anything, really; she’s lost, almost despondent in a way that makes Adora’s skin crawl. It’s as if Catra’s physically there, but otherwise _leaving_. 

And Adora can’t watch her drown.

She takes her smaller hands into hers, wrapping them in a gentle but still there grip.

_Come back_ , she whispers in her head.

It takes a moment before Catra slowly moves her head to look at her, and her gaze is so fragile, like she’s one tiny crack away from falling apart. 

Adora doesn’t want that to happen but feels powerless--what can she really do when Catra’s broken before? She’s healed, but the fractures are still there, leaving her vulnerable in ways that Adora can’t protect her against. The damage has already been done and there’s no undoing it. The best she can do is give the support she can and hope that helps to keep her whole.

“None of this was your fault,” Catra whispers. “I don’t want you walking away thinking that you’re responsible for anything when it was all out of your control. It wasn’t, and I know that now--I really do.”

Adora’s heart aches, waiting for the ‘but.’

“But I have to be honest with you. Just remember that, okay? Nothing is your fault, Adora.” She takes in a shaky breath. “But after you...I blamed you for a lot of things for awhile.”

The admission is quiet but loud in her head.

Unconsciously, she grips the hands a little tighter.

“I was so angry,” Catra cries, eyes watering and looking away. “I hated you. For leaving us, _me_ , at that place. I _needed_ you and not just because of Weaver.” Her face turns toward her again, tentatively making eye contact for a moment. “You were _everything_ to me. And without you, the world didn’t make sense, didn’t seem worth it. And with you gone, there was nothing left to stop Weaver. I confronted her because I thought she was lying,” she huffs a laugh devoid of humor. “And I guess she was, because she was _pissed_ and _drunk_ and didn’t think twice about just stabbing me.”

Catra laughs again, shaking her head in incredulity. 

A hand wiggles free from Adora’s, coming toward the edge of her shirt and pulling the fabric upward so that the nook between her thumb and index finger cups the scar on her torso.

“I was in the hospital for a little while. She blamed me for it, of course, and they believed her. Watched me like I was a little psycho who needed babysitting. Prescribed me some Oxy because that _bruja_ got me _good_. They gave me a lot, actually, which in hindsight was so fucking _dumb_ , but they worked. They worked too well.”

Her hand relaxes to drop the shirt but Adora’s replaces it, gently bringing a finger over the line. Catra doesn’t stop her. She watches, bringing her hand down onto her thigh.

“They were the first thing I packed,” she whispers. 

In her mind, Adora sees Catra as she was months ago, vomiting in early withdrawal and looking like the actual walking dead, all empty eyes, exhausted energy, and expired spirit. 

She wants to understand Catra--really wants to get it, but how could she cling to something so toxic?

Adora hates the answer she gets.

“I got so lost when I thought you were really dead. I had the others at Weaver’s but the grief was so strong that it didn’t matter. It all felt useless and terrible and only less so when I had the pills.” 

She turns her head hard, bringing her eyes as far from Adora’s as possible.

“I don't talk publicly about this part very much so I’m guessing you don’t know, but--” she sucks in a long breath. “My first OD was a few months afterwards while I was gone. I--” she chokes, sinking her teeth into her lips. “I ran out a few days prior and went a little nuts trying to find the money to buy. And when I got it, I was short but no one just discounts drugs for an addict or leaves pennies in the change tray to grab.”

Adora’s hand on her torso has flattened on the fuzzy skin, thumb on the scar and the rest gripping her side--a lifeline, something to ground her and remind her that Catra's okay now--she’s here.

“He was teasing me, holding the baggy in front of my face and I just snapped, grabbed it and swallowed them _all_ because I was so desperate, and he got _so_ pissed. He tried getting me to pay _another_ way,” she hisses and Adora’s vision reddens immediately, blood boiling in seconds. “But I wouldn’t, so he fought me about it for a while and tried taking my guitar, and when the drugs started kicking in, it was overwhelming. I have no idea what would’ve happened if Razz hadn’t shown up.”

“She helped me get to Kansas City but left me there,” Catra clarifies. “She said she’d come back. _Dioses_ , who knows why but she did. Who knows why she appeared in the first place. But I don’t know what happened after because of the--but I know she’s the only reason I woke up.” 

Catra puts her head in her free hand, the other still captured by Adora’s. 

“I--I don’t mean to get lost in details. That’s not what I want to tell you, though I guess you deserve to know all that at some point. And I’ll answer all your questions someday, I promise, but I’ve gotta--I’ve gotta--”

Her breathing picks up, pulse getting wild and eyes squeezing shut.

Adora gently scoots forward, pulling the girl into her arms.

Catra jolts, stiffening, and Adora worries that the contact is too much. She’s just considering releasing her when shaky arms limply wrap around her torso, returning the hug that then becomes a tight hold, unsheathed nails digging into her back, and dropping her head onto Adora’s shoulder like it’s the heaviest thing in the world. 

“I’ll be patient,” Adora affirms with a voice gruff with emotion. “Your terms,” she chokes out.

She wants to know. She’s _dying_ to know because she feels so guilty. No amount of not-your-faults could ever erase it--only the truth and time will heal that bleeding part of her heart. And yeah, it’s going to hurt worse for awhile after learning all that. It’s going to hurt for a long time while the wounds heal and re-open as Catra becomes more and more ready to talk, but she’s going to wait. It’s going to suck, but she’d give Catra that rest of her life if that’s what she needed. Adora can’t live not knowing--it’d be a pain that’d never ease--but she can give Catra what she needs knowing that she’ll get her answers eventually.

Adora tugs her closer.

She’s going to give Catra everything.

“I--I--” Catra stutters, shaking slightly in her arms. 

Adora tucks the girl into her, rubbing a hand up and down her back, and Catra stays there for a few moments, giving into the sensation. And Adora would hold her for hours, _years_ , but she breaks away.

Catra takes a deep breath, filling her lungs and exhaling completely, but her hands tighten into fists and her face morphs into a scowl. She stands, pacing for a few steps next to the couch before walking to the guitar rack and grabbing the Taylor and then treading to the middle of the floor, sitting with her back against the dresser under the TV.

She glides her fingers over the strings, a metallic swiping noise echoing in the space between them. Abruptly, she randomly twists the tuners--round and round in different directions as her jaw throbs, teeth looking like they’re painfully shut tight. And when her claws strike an open chord, the sound is horrendously discordant and grating. 

The noise makes Adora cringe, but it seems to relax Catra a bit. She pushes more of her weight into the dresser, losing some of the tension in her hands and forearms. Slowly, she plucks the low string, playing it over and over as she adjusts the tuner back to a proper pitch. Catra takes her time after the first main adjustment, bringing it closer and closer until the tuning is perfectly centered, then plucking the string for a final time. 

A lonely but lovely tone echoes out and Adora exhales a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Catra continues onto the next string, scowl lessened but still present and movements now only slightly aggressive. 

“It wasn’t until after I came back that my thoughts of you changed.”

Adora startles slightly, not expecting her to talk over her task, but rights herself quickly to listen attentively. 

“When I came back, I was terrified. I knew Weaver was going to punish me--it was inevitable, so I concocted this stupid plan to make it at least _worth_ something.” 

She plucks the string with extra force and it _twangs_ harshly. 

“With me gone and her so angry, so took her shit out on the others a lot more. It didn’t surprise me--I already knew better. Knew she was probably doing that, though too fucked to care. But when I was coming back I told myself I’d make up for it; I just had to convince Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio to get in on it.”

Adora swallows and feels that her mouth has gone dry while her hands have gotten warm, sweaty and uncomfortable. She rubs them on her jeans, digging her palm into the muscles of her thigh to help push out some of the tension.

“It was hard, but they knew it was our best shot of getting out of there without anyone else getting screwed up. And I lied through my teeth when I said she’d only hurt me a little,” Catra grits though her snarl. “Think they all knew that was bullshit.” 

She pauses, breathing slowly and forcing herself to relax her shoulders a bit. “Of course, she beat the ever-loving shit out of me. We took the knives out of the kitchen and everything and she still beat me within a half-inch of my life. I told myself that it was okay--maybe I’d see you again sooner rather than later after a miserable life. That I’d been brave like you and that might earn me a ticket somewhere close to wherever you were.”

Adora sours and Catra does too. 

“Stupid, naïve, and probably my first suicide attempt whether I knew it at the time or not. And when I lived and hurt just as much on the outside as on the inside, couldn’t move from the bed for weeks, I got pent up and _angry_. Too much time to think, and I talked myself into believing that you were a selfish coward--some awful, horrible person who took the easy way out instead of suffering and pushing forward like the rest of us.”

Adora’s arms cross over her midsection, fingers positioned over her skin so her nails can rake it, give off the sting that keeps her here instead of getting lost elsewhere. 

“For a few years, I hated you. It’s not your fault but fuck--you need to know how much I detested you because it just--” she growls. “--it was fucking stupid, but it made me so hostile. Toward everyone--the guys, _myself_. Adora,” she says, looking up at her for the first time since grabbing the guitar. “It made me a terrible, selfish person, and I’ve been trying to make up for that for years.”

Adora is stock still, frozen on the couch and eyes not daring to blink to break contact for even a millisecond. 

Catra’s finished tuning the guitar, hands idly running over minor chords as her face hollows into an empty look of despair.

“I’ve written a lot of songs about you,” the Magicat admits quietly. “The whole world could tell you that, but they don’t know all of them--the ones that came before our first album. I mean, there’s a few online from when I performed on the street--the miserable, forlorn ones. But not the angry ones.”

Catra’s fingers waltz melancholically on the guitar, looping the same chords and rhythms. 

Both of them are watching her strum and move her hand along the frets. The movements are languid, almost tired--like she’s playing underwater or with weights on her wrists. Almost like it’s painful to play and she’s forcing herself to create sound.

“There’s one--” she starts, sinking her teeth into the corner of her mouth. “There’s one that I’ve never shared with anyone. It’s just-- _mine_. Too personal--too intimate, I guess, with my torment.”

She freezes on the strings halfway in strumming a new chord, moving her gaze toward the ground.

“I’d like you to hear it,” Catra whispers.

Adora’s heart is in her throat, choking her and making it hard to breathe. She sucks air in through her mouth, trying to swallow as much oxygen as she can to keep her going. She’s doing that when Catra looks up, eyes meeting hers in a silent plea, and Adora coughs, choking on the inhale and trying to respond.

“Okay,” the word comes out hoarsely. 

Catra nods, body folding in on her but she forces herself to fight it, maintaining the posture she needs for the song despite how much she wants to wrap up into a ball.

She repositions her fingers, starting the comping from the top.

_Bury all your secrets in my skin_

_Come away with innocence, and leave me with my sins_

_The air around me still feels like a cage_

_And love is just a camouflage for what resembles rage again_

  
  


Her voice is almost a whisper, crackling due to its softness. The guitar has the same quality, crying just a little bit as it bleeds its melody, getting stronger when Catra’s voice does on the next verse.

  
  


_So if you love me, let me go_

_And run away before I know_

_My heart is just too dark to care_

_I can't destroy what isn't there_

_Deliver me unto my fate_

_If I'm alone I cannot hate_

_I don't deserve to have you_

_Ooh, my smile was taken long ago_

_If I can change I hope I never know!_

  
  


It’s aching--watching and listening to her, that is. The lyrics are pungent with the timbre of her voice, and the guitar’s lovely tone makes Catra sound haunted. The guitar is substance but Catra is all feeling and ghostly touch, reaching through Adora as if her body’s walls can’t protect her from the girl. She just slips past the barrier, wrapping spectral fingers around Adora’s tender heart.

  
  


_I still press your letters to my lips_

_And cherish them in parts of me that savor every kiss_

_I couldn't face a life without your lights_

_But all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight_

  
  


Catra’s restraint starts to give way, the song building and allowing her pain to pile, thickening the air in the room as her wounds bleed through the music.

  
  


_So save your breath, I will not hear_

_I think I made it very clear_

_You couldn't hate enough to love_

_Is that supposed to be enough?_

_I only wish you weren't my friend_

_Then I could hurt you in the end_

_I never claimed to be a saint_

_Ooh, my own was banished long ago_

_It took the death of hope to let you go!_

  
  


Catra cries out, harshly raking her nails over the strings to match her miserable intensity. 

And she looks it--intensely _miserable_. Face crest-fallen, eyebrows drawn together and lifted upward, cheeks slack and mouth bitterly cracked open to snarl out her words. It’s fighting the tightness that comes with fury because it so desperately wants to break--force Catra to weep, but she resists. She’s not done and even though she looks so tortured, she’s too consumed in the heat of her emotions to let go just yet.

  
  


_So break yourself against my stones_

_And spit your pity in my soul_

_You never needed any help_

_You sold me out to save yourself_

_And I won't listen to your shame_

_You ran away--you're all the same_

_Angels lie to keep control_

_Ooh, my love was punished long ago_

_If you still care, don't ever let me know_

_If you still care, don't ever let me know!_

  
  


Her final cry lingers over the guitar as it finishes its remaining bars, again haunting the pureness of the sound that resonates from it. It bitters the sweetness of the instrument, making it as desolate as Catra, who looks so worn out that if she weren’t already sitting, she might collapse. 

It’s like all of her was just sapped, leaving her this empty husk that’s already given over everything she had. The song was so much emotion and now it’s like she doesn’t have any. She looks numb--distant. Pulled far away from there to be imprisoned elsewhere.

Adora doesn’t know what to do.

Things are so much easier for her to deal with when they’re tangible--then she can handle them physically. She can punch a bully in the face but she can’t just kick the horrible words he said. That’s like raking leaves in the wind. And she can try and bag up as many as possible--put every inch of her body into it--but she’s still inevitably going to watch some fly away where she can’t reach them.

There’s so many swarming the space between them that she feels like she’ll be swept away and not even be able to near Catra. 

So she stares, eyes analyzing the Magicat, memorizing every lovely feature, every hidden scar, trying to get her to come back to her and meet her gaze. 

“Catra,” she whispers in an exhale. 

Tears well over her blue and gold eyes, trailing neat streams down her face that drip onto the guitar.

“It’s called Snuff,” she replies, voice just as soft. 

Adora swallows, nodding slightly, trying to think of something-- _anything_ \--she could say to bring Catra back to her.

“It’s,” she starts, and the Magicat’s ear twitches. “It’s okay if you hated me.”

Immediately, Catra’s face flies upward, eyes wide with confusion.

“I know you weren’t really mad at _me_.”

Her eyebrows crinkle and Adora’s do too in response, irritated in her own inability to properly explain.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she continues, careful in the way she speaks her words. “A lot of stuff you didn’t deserve to go through. It’s not fair that you didn’t have someone there to help you through it.”

Catra’s jaw clenches and she angrily shakes her head. “I _did_ have people there. I was just too selfish to see it, and that doesn’t mean I should’ve hated you the way I did.”

Adora sighs, sitting back into the couch more. “Maybe so,” she whispers. “But they weren’t _me_.”

The Magicat deflates, anger sizzling out like a popped balloon. “No,” she softly agrees. “They weren’t you.”

Adora rubs her hands harshly, making the skin go red and purple where she presses harshly. 

“You have every right to be upset that you...you had to live the life you did. Nobody deserves that. And I understand why you’d blame me. It was just easier, huh?”

Catra nods, head faced away in shame.

“Maybe it wasn’t right, but we were what, fifteen? We were just kids. We didn’t know what we were doing and it wasn’t like we were taught to properly deal with our emotions. You just--” she pauses, lifting her hands into the air as she seeks the missing words. “You just did what you could,” Adora says, releasing her tension.

The Magicat startles when she stands and pads over to her, sitting in front of her, though maintaining a little space.

“I was lucky that I got taken out of there.”

Catra opens her mouth to object, but Adora shakes her head, stopping her. 

“It’s not a lie--it’s just the way it is. I might not have had a choice, but I still got my ticket out. My brother found me and he took care of me. Got me therapy, whatever I needed for sports and school. Fed me, clothed me, loved me. He never gaslighted me or--” she sucks in a breath. “--hurt me like Weaver hurt you.”

Catra’s ears twist backward, flattening onto her head. 

“I got lucky. Got time to deal with my traumas or at least learn to manage them, but time just brought you _more_ , so--so I get it.”

Catra’s tail lashes back and forth beside her hunched frame. She’s got her chin on her knees as she holds her legs, ears still backward--maybe even _flatter_ against her skull. Her fur is a little puffed up, spiked out in discomfort. She doesn’t look at Adora, though.

And Adora inches sideways a bit, carefully watching to make sure she doesn’t startle her. 

When she doesn’t react negatively, Adora continues inching her way forward, making her way to the girl’s side.

There’s maybe a hair’s width of space between them, but Adora doesn't dare close that space herself--just gives Catra the comfort of a nearby body, no pressure.

“I’d say if you feel guilty about hating me, don’t, but I know that won’t work. Just,” she says, turning her head toward the Magicat. “Just know it’s okay, alright? I feel guilty too.”

Catra wipes her face roughly with a hand before turning away, her cheek on her knee.

For a moment, Adora’s heart pangs and drops into her stomach but before she can berate herself, Catra nods.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Her head is still faced away, but Adora relaxes when the girl’s body leans into hers.

Tentatively, Adora slides an arm around her. When she leans further into her, Adora finally relaxes, sliding her hand up to scratch behind Catra’s ears.

“I’m sorry too.”

And wow, it feels great to let go of some of the guilt she’s been carrying with her since learning of The Horde. She just drops it--not all of it, of course, but enough to feel much lighter, and when Catra begins to softly purr, Adora feels better than she has in many years.

As time passes, she feels like this is how she should’ve felt when she went to Mystacor with Bow and Glimmer awhile back. Glimmer’s aunt owns the luxury resort and gave them access to everything: the beach, the spa, massages--everything that should bring a person to Nirvana. It just made Adora feel restless and itchy in her own skin. Her friends kept telling her to relax, take a nap, something, but it gave her too much time to think about the nightmares she’d been having and they soon became her daydreams there. 

But this--this right here with Catra gradually releasing her tension, purring more and more the longer Adora scratches, is as close to Nirvana she’s ever been. She knows she’s always wanted Catra, but everything in this moment is surprisingly warming, and she wouldn’t trade any delicate touch or breathy exhale for anything.

Adora wouldn’t trade _Catra_ for anything.

And maybe the thought should make her cheeks redden uncomfortably and embarrassment cloud her mind, but she’s too lost in the moment to care about that. Her chest warms instead and a smile stretches easily on her face. 

Holding Catra close in her embrace must be what it’s like for some people to pray, and she’s quickly committed to this new religion, becoming baptized with her soft, sleepy whispers on her face after they’ve walked to the bed. Catra’s smile is her Savior and each of her sounds--from her laugh to her purrs to her scoffs and her sighs--are her Commandments. She’s blessed to have her arms wrapped around Catra and even more so for hers to be wrapped around Adora. It’s the Heaven she’s been missing, and maybe that conversation sucked as much as it healed, but she’d do it again every day to end up here each night, drifting off to sleep with Catra’s sweet scent in her nose and warmth wrapped around her. 

  
  


After a few hours of sleep, Catra wakes to Melog purring, curled around her head and Adora snoring, wrapped around her body.

She’s tired and cried-out but can’t help but smile into Adora’s chest and purr herself. She’s comfortable, so while sleep is getting further and further from her grasp, she continues to lay there. And really, Catra would lay there until the morning, but her fingers start to itch when her mind hears a simple melody.

It takes some time to peel herself off of the girl--sleeping Adora is want to let her go. Actually, she grumbles and holds on tighter, making Catra roll her eyes and snicker quietly. But as much as she’d like to relent, she _has_ to get up.

And when she does, she’s immediately sliding into the chair at the desk, pulling out the tray and plugging headphones into the keyboard there.

Catra hums the melody, finding A4 on the make-shift piano. Really, she’d rather be at her piano at home for this to flesh more out but it’ll have to do, so she grabs out a notebook and quickly writes down the notes to save for later:

A4 G4 B4 C5

(1) & a 2 & 3 & 4 & 1(2) &(3 4)

She writes the same phrase again after an eighth rest, though as she hums softly, she makes note not to repeat the same lyrics with it--in her mind, that doesn’t fit. Same phrase, different words.

A4 G4 B4 C5

(1) & 2 & 3 & 4 & 1(2) &(3 4)

“...I’ll know,” she sings with the second measure of the repeated phrase, then hastily writes it down. 

A4 G4 B5 D6 C6 D6 E6 C6 B5 D6 E6 

(1) & a 2 & 3 & 4 & 1 2 & 3 &(4) &(1) 2 &(3) 4 &

C6 D6 E6 C6

1 2 e & a 3 & 4 

“...wanna hear your...” she sings out loud, though she’s strapped for words for the last couple beats and just hums them.

Catra sits back, humming the full melody with the words she found, eyes flickering over to Adora when she quietly sings “I’ll know.”

The girl’s sleeping form does a lot of things to her heart.

Maybe it’s the comfort of the darkness or the fact that she’s unconscious-- _dioses_ , it’s probably both--but it’s easier like this to look at her and be honest with her feelings. 

It was really hard to handle Adora coming back into her life. The tragedy of her supposed death ripped Catra apart, so it wasn’t like the movies--all Hallmark-y and “it’s a Christmas,” though it happened in the spring, “miracle!” 

Accepting that Adora is actually _here_ was agonizing, and yeah withdrawal sucks but this was a different type of pain. Going into rehab with both happening was a time and a half but laying in bed for weeks vomiting out your fucking organs gives a gal time to think, so maybe she killed two birds with one stone. Withdrawal made it feel more okay to cry and scream and _fuck_ she needed to do that. Adora gave her another reason to get clean and made her feel like maybe she could find more permanent happiness again. And yeah, she’s definitely making sure that she’s being healthy and not just swapping pills for Adora because that pressure isn’t cool and fuck, she’s twenty-five goddamn years old and she will _not_ use the girl as her only reason to exist again, but...

It’s--

Her claws grasp tightly into her shirt, tugging at her chest. 

It feels like her ribs and sternum are breaking apart from the inside, being forced open by the sheer intensity of the beating organ within. Her heart’s been bass-boosted and the amp is on full blast, putting out the heavy type of beat that people lose themselves to in clubs.

She just--

Catra’s excited and so grateful for this opportunity. 

To be able to be more mature--not like she was as an angsty, emotionally constipated teen. To be someone who’s put in the work to better herself holistically and face her issues head-on with honesty even though it fucking hurt. Someone who knows the relationship that they had when they were younger--though idyllic with many memories cemented in her heart--wasn’t healthy and needed _vast_ improvement...

It makes her see stars thinking about how they might be able to pick up the pieces of the love they had and turn it into something new, thriving, and wholesome. 

Catra’s done therapy for years--is _done_ playing stupid games with herself, so she knows without a doubt she doesn’t want Adora platonically. She knows she never had, even when she was too young to know better. But the real question is if Adora wants her like that, too.

Adora has always been a little thick-skulled, but Catra notices things.

She sees how Adora looks at her. How her eyes drag up and down her body when she dresses up for the shows, all skin-tight, form-fitting denim or leather or suits--fuck she can tell Adora _especially_ loves the suits. That puppy dog face when Adora watches her laugh or share something she loves. The blushes when Catra teases her because she _knows_ she’s watching. The blushes when Catra pays attention, bringing her a coffee when she yawns, distracting her when she’s got writer’s block and about to rip out her hair, remembering the little things she likes, like M&Ms in her popcorn, and mixing them without having to say anything. The blushes in the early morning--because Adora’s always been the early riser--when her eyes flutter open and catch the blonde already looking at her like--

Catra sucks in a long, slow breath, feeling the way the air fills her lungs up and then exits.

She sees the signs.

But Adora was _everything_ to Catra, and though it’s only been a few months she’s becoming everything and more to her again.

So maybe the issue isn’t _does she?_ but rather that if they were to happen, Catra knows it would be a done deal. Catra would never look for anyone else ever again and neither would Adora, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be together forever. 

Catra’s career isn’t ideal for that sort of thing, and since Adora is looking to do investigative journalism, neither is hers. 

Not only that, but the history between them is as thick and heavy as molasses. And yeah, molasses is sweet but it’s not all that healthy, so--

“ _Híjole_. Chill the fuck out, Catra,” she grumbles before sighing.

She just--

Adora deserves the world and then some.

That makes the question _can I give her what she deserves?_

A loud snort in the sleeping girl’s snoring jolts Catra out of her head, jumping a little from the chair. 

Judging by the unintelligible groaning, it had the same effect on Adora, who now semi-awakenly pats the empty space on the bed next to her.

“Catra?” She asks out into the dark room, human eyes unable to see what hers can.

Adora lifts her head slightly off the pillow, sitting up partially. Her hair is flat and scrunched up on one side while the other has curled into unruly strands. There’s definitely a line of drool running along the side of her mouth, which she wipes off, and her eyes are comically cracked. It’s like she’s putting all her effort into keeping them open, though the result is _barely_.

It makes her smile as she pads over to the edge of the bed, swiftly jumping over the girl into her spot.

“Right here, _idiota._ ”

Adora is already snuggling up to her, closing her eyes. 

“Good,” she says on an exhale, sliding back into sleep.

Catra chuckles softly, bringing her hand up to detangle some of her hair and rub her thumb across the smooth skin of the blonde’s face.

Maybe the question she’s so fixated on is an important one, but it’s not the only one-- _what does she want?_ is just as important, and if the answer is _Catra?_ Well…

Then she’s determined to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! College is unfortunately a thing, but hopefully the length of the chapter makes up for it!
> 
> Let me know what y'all think--interested in hearing your thoughts on this.
> 
> As always, those of you who comment are beautiful souls and I appreciate you so much, even if I don't get to responding!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra takes some time to respond to a fan's question personally and gets a little help in doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a soft little one for yall :)

forcecaptain56 _,_

Adora asked me your question.

I’d like to respond to you properly.

If you’re comfortable with it, please give me your mailing address.

With much love and support,

Catra

“What about roses?”

“Well, roses are lovely but they’re traditionally romantic, so maybe not all that fitting,” Perfuma says, hands patiently folded together as Catra skims google images for pictures of flowers.

Her heart is in her throat and she feels like nothing she sees is right. 

Catra likes flowers, yeah, but this isn’t in her wheelhouse. She wants to pick the perfect bouquet, and Kyle, Rogelio, and Perfuma are trying their best but she’s still frustrated as _fuck_ because flowers have different meanings so sending what looks prettiest doesn’t work but nothing seems to fit the message Catra wants to convey.

It’s putting her on edge, but not with the others--with herself. 

Her brain is turning against her, not working the way it should and not thinking how it ought to, making her fingers itch in that old way that makes her crave grabbing a bottle and popping a few pills into her mouth. And it’s stupid so she berates herself for it, but that just makes her head _louder_.

“Ugh,” she groans, slipping further down onto the couch so her back is more on the seat than her butt and legs are. 

“I just--I really want something super nice but the only thing that seems fitting to me are roses.” 

Catra can feel her frustration boiling and it drives her wild, making her whole body tense.

Rogelio nudges her leg with his own, forcing her attention upwards.

_“How about we look at different types of roses, then? There’s more than just red.”_

“Oh, great idea!” Perfuma cheers while Kyle nods peppily.

“There’s white for purity, which could be a good option, yellow for joy and friendship, peach for appreciation, lavender for enchantment, coral--my favorite--for desire, and--”

“Uh Perfuma?” Kyle interrupts cringing slightly. “Maybe slow down a little?”

Now Catra honestly thinks there’s smoke coming out her ears. Her head throbs with fiery pain, so she gets up for an icepack, using it to cover her eyes. Aspirin would be better but she’s avoiding it--the thought of swallowing any type of pill makes her skin crawl.

“Catra?”

Kyle’s voice is tentative and pitchy so she forces herself to relax.

“Yeah?”

“What about white? Perfuma’s right--they’re a good option. They symbolize purity, but it also says they can mean grace, new beginnings, and spirituality. They could be paired with red, which would mean love and grief in this context.”

“Is that good enough, though?”

She doesn’t need to see to know they’re giving her looks.

When the silence drags on for too long, she crumbles and curls up.

“ _Órale_ , I’m going to nap on it. Thanks for the help, guys.”

Catra’s ears hear well enough to track Kyle’s quiet retreat back into his bedroom while Perfuma walks up the bus toward Scorpia. Rogelio doesn’t stand, though--just continues to sit next to her on the couch wordlessly. And maybe that should be perfect to allow her to fall asleep, but his immobility is like a police siren in her mind.

She feels like a child when she dramatically swipes the pack off her face to glare at him but doesn’t really care.

He doesn’t react unkindly though. He sits there regarding her softly with calm eyes and an easy posture. With picture perfect patience, excluding warmth that even disgruntled-Catra can’t ignore, so she sighs, relaxing.

 _“What?”_ She signs.

Rogelio slowly shifts on the couch to face her.

_“You feel very strongly about this.”_

_“Well yeah,”_ Catra signs with a huff. _“How can I not? They just seem so…”_ She trails off, unsure of how to describe it.

She just had a gut feeling--obviously this _forcecaptain56_ , is devastated and lost. Their message was clear on that. But there’s also this reaching sort of desperation that hits Catra close to her heart. Maybe it’s because of the Adora reference or the conversation that followed Adora’s airing of the question, but she doesn’t think that’s it. She wants to thank them somehow for making it easier to approach that topic--she knows that--but there’s this other layer to the empathy she feels that she doesn’t get.

_“The fact that you’re willing to do anything is kind, Catra. A lot of celebrities wouldn’t do that.”_

_“Yeah, I know.”_

_“Then why all this pressure you’re putting on yourself? Why not just go with the florist’s recommendation?”_

It’s a valid question.

Somewhere inside her, she feels the answer, but she doesn’t exactly _know_ it.

 _“I don’t know,”_ she signs smally, resting her hands on her stomach and shifting her gaze out the window.

When it’s silent again, she sighs, pulling out her phone for a distraction.

Catra’s got most of her notifications off, lest she get bombarded, but she goes into Twitter to swipe through those ones--the typical @s and mentions, and she replies to many. A few fans share pics of her from recent shows, gushing about how much they love her and all the good things she does and how she’s talented, kind, unproblematic, inspiring, _yadah yadah._ She considers the Tweets themselves, even reads their bio sometimes to write a meaningful reply. It’s a process she goes through a lot on social media and in its own way in real life--signing items, photographs, writing letters to fans who send her gifts. Honestly, without Scorpia she’d probably be buried in fan-outreach. The scorpian-hybrid sorts her mail, manages the time she spends with fans when she gets overwhelmed at events, and picks and chooses her interviews, guest appearances--basically everything. Without her, Catra would likely just say _yes_ to it all and wear herself out.

They sit there in silence so long that Catra’s moved onto another site before Rogelio nudges her again.

_“You want to do something meaningful for them.”_

Catra exhales a long breath, ears twitching backwards a bit. _“Yeah, I guess.”_

_“What’s their username again?”_

She furrows her brows. _“forcecaptain56. Why?_ ”

He doesn’t answer her. _“Adora took questions from Instagram, right?”_

_“Yeah, why?”_

Catra growls when he doesn’t answer her, instead opting to pull out his phone.

She watches him, glare so hot he might catch fire--she _hates_ when people don’t answer her questions, and he should know this--but he continues to do whatever he’s up to. 

And when his eyes widen a bit and he smiles, Catra thinks she’s finally going to be let in on whatever it is, but Rogelio simplys gets off the couch and walks away.

She scoffs loudly. “Hey, what the fuck!”

Rogelio has the audacity to turn around and _wink_ at her, so she hisses. 

_“Just trust me, okay? Why don’t you work on writing something to them and let me figure this out.”_

Catra grumbles but relents, ears flat against her skull. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

She gets up and heads to the desk, pulling out a drawer with nice stationary and pens. She grabs some regular notebook paper too for practice and plops down in the chair, still grumbling stubbornly while she opens Instagram to look at _forcecaptain56’s_ page.

_Rei_

_They/them_

_Just a nurse/amateur photographer who loves their wife <3 _

Catra flinches, scrolling down their profile to find only a few pictures from this year. 

One is of a lake, taken from what appears to be Rei’s spot in a canoe, the tip breaking through the bottom of the picture as it glides across the water, another figure in a canoe ahead silhouetted in black. The saturation is so low, it’s almost black and white, and it’s captioned with lyrics familiar to her tongue: _If_ _I can’t follow you this time / Will you wait for me on the other side?_

Another post has multiple pictures attached. The first is zoomed in on a photo on a wall that’s surrounded by many others--like part of a collage. There’s a dark-haired woman laughing, eyes crinkled in mirth as they look toward the person holding the camera. She’s got her back resting against the divider in front of a stage, lost in the moment as others around her are looking upward. Yet, she’s looking in the opposite direction--like her gaze shouldn’t be anywhere else. It has another caption she knows all too well: _That little kiss you stole, it held my heart and soul_ _/ And like a deer in the headlights, I meet my fate / Don't try to fight the storm, you'll tumble overboard / Tides will bring me back to you._

She swipes to look at the next picture and gasps, quickly swiping to the first picture for confirmation and back.

It’s her--the woman from the picture--except there are maybe hundreds of photos like the first covering an entire wall, collaged together to outline her bust. Light is shining in from a window, casting a warm glow over it that exudes life--just like how she looked at that concert. Soft, yellow rays touch the photos so delicately it’s ethereal. It has a presence like Rei’s wife is _there_ with Rei at that moment. 

It strikes Catra so unexpectedly that it cuts her deeply, forcing tears to well in her eyes.

The older pictures further down are just as lively, bright, and joyful, and it’s no surprise that the dark-haired woman is in most of them. Soft gazes over the tops of tall ice cream cones, smirks as she laps someone mid-drift in a go-cart, belly-ache type laughing as a dog splashes mud all over the crouching woman--all the photos are snapshots of those perfect little moments you cherish so fiendishly after a person is ripped away from you, and Catra feels that all too well.

Whoever this was clearly brought so much light to Rei’s life, just like Adora did for her.

But Catra doesn’t cry until she freezes upon the picture of the woman at the concert, originally captioned: _Every dream begins with a dreamer / We have a hope we must defend / No matter what, we'll come out swinging / We haven't reached the end,_ hashtagged _The Horde_ , and followed up by a picture of the stage where a younger Catra’s face is scrunched up while she rips into her vocals, fist high in the air as her bandmates and family go hard behind her. 

It’s at this moment that the bus rolls to a stop, and the doors open.

She quickly wipes her face and sets down her phone, breathing several deep breaths to calm herself, expecting everyone to rush off to whatever reststop they’re at or for someone to hop on, but the doors soon shut and the bus eases off again. 

Catra frowns, giving Rogelio questioning eyes as he enters the room again with a bag.

He approaches and sits on the edge of the desk, handing it over. 

She’s still frowning but takes it anyway, pulling the item out and freezing, questioning eyes returning a little wider.

_“I saw that they had their Instagram connected to other social media so I had Entrapta do a search through them to find all their Horde-related stuff. She found on their Tumblr that Family First is their favorite song. I thought this was fitting and that we could all sign it.”_

Catra nods, choking on her rising emotions at the 7” vinyl in her hand. 

Last year, The Horde released the small record with 1-800-273-8255 on the A side and Family First on the B side to raise money for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

It was in limited supply--priced so that it wasn’t unattainable but average fans, though it did require an additional donation to AFSP (amount up to the buyer), and they all sold out within the first half hour after going live.

Each of them had one as well as the crew and Hordak, but finding one outside of their circle? 

_“How the hell did you find it?”_

Rogelio nods toward the front of the bus. _“Entrapta, again. She managed to find two record shops that crossed paths with the tour who had one. We were just lucky that one was so close--the owner drove out himself to meet us.”_

 _“Wow,”_ she signs, stunned at their tremendous joint effort for this total stranger _. “That’s…”_

He just smiles and nods slightly before pulling out his phone. 

_“I was thinking about the flowers, too, and might have something you’ll like.”_

He hands her the phone and she gasps.

_“What are these?”_

_“Rosa centifolia--rose of a hundred petals. You seemed to like roses and while I think white is a good option, I figured something perhaps a step up was in order. I talked with a few florists in Rei’s city and found this.”_

Rogelio briefly leans over into her space, head over her hand and phone so he can see the screen. He curls his finger, getting his claws out of the way and drags a knuckle across the screen sideways, and honestly? Catra’s chest might’ve just burst with affection for him.

_“Oh my god.”_

She’s never seen anything quite like it.

Catra expected a lush bouquet, but that’s not what this is at all. Rather, it’s a single, white, rosa centifolia in a vase. But the vase isn’t just a simple vase-shape--yes, the crystal that shelters the rose has that typical, slim form, but it’s held aloft, tilted about forty-five degrees for the petals to point slightly upward. Metal is twisted around it, wrapping the rose in a delicate heart shape that’s balanced on a pedestal. It’s subtle, but the simpleness of the beautiful, encompassing heart around the crystal and rose is _everything_ Catra didn’t realize she wanted for Rei, nonetheless how heartfelt and _true_ the signed vinyl will be with it.

It’s taken Catra many years to be comfortable with showing weakness--especially crying--in front of others, no matter who they are, but she doesn’t hesitate to let the tears drop while her arms wrap around Rogelio.

He didn’t even understand _why_ she felt so strongly about this--even _she_ didn’t know--but to care so much and do _this_ anyway?

“You might have scales instead of fur, but I’ll be damned if you’re not my family,” she chokes out, still too _Catra_ to just say _I love you_. 

She’s got her head nestled next to his in their embrace so she’s unable to see him sign.

Rogelio knows this but doesn’t release--he hugs her tighter with one arm, loosening the other so that his right hand can draw a heart on her back.

And Catra already knows.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your feedback on the last chapter!! I'm gonna do my best to get back to each of you because you're incredible and I love the back and forth


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the Seattle concert. 
> 
> Among Us, an unwelcome concert-goer, a seriously hot shirt, and some much needed advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't played Among us, 1. highly recommend it and 2. you might want to watch a quick youtube clip or something to get an idea of what it is for context in this!

When the alarm goes off, it takes Adora a solid minute to come-to from their nap, groggily opening her eyes. She keeps them locked on her “cuddle buddy”-- _ugh, thanks a lot Bow for the new vocabulary word--_ throwing her arm blindly behind her in hopes to snag the blaring device. When she remembers that they purposefully put it across the room so they’d _have_ to get up, she throws her face into the pillow and yells.

And okay, that’s probably dramatic, so she rolls back over to trace the curve of Catra’s still-sleeping face with barely the tip of her finger, sighing softly.

They took a break from driving last night when they got to Seattle early, which was _awesome_ , but when none of them wanted to sleep early in the evening or go out, they texted back and forth between the buses trying to come up with ideas. Apparently Mermista was in a mood after tracking down the thief stealing her secret stash of seafood jerky (Sea Hawk) because she didn’t hesitate to suggest Among Us, and then it was _chaos_.

  
  
  


“Okay, okay, I’ve got this! I’m going to give you a number and when you get it, show it on your hand.”

Glimmer goes around the group naming ones and twos like it’s elementary school. She makes Adora blush a shade of red deeper than that time Sea Hawk snuck Ghost Peppers onto her sandwich when she stops at Catra and Adora, pausing her steady pace. It takes her approximately five seconds for the cogs to turn in her head and a shit-eating grin to cross her face, smirking devilishly at Adora when Catra addresses her.

“Problem, Sparkles?”

The pink-haired girl’s eyes don’t shift nor blink--she simply says “nope,” before pointing at Adora and saying “one,” and then Catra and _again_ saying “one,” finishing the numbering quickly before the two can open their mouths and ask _what the fuck we’re standing right next to each other._

“Where’s group one going?” Lonnie asks, immediately jumping in after and giving Adora the same dirty look and what does _that_ mean, but she doesn’t have time to think about it because Mermista’s already responding. 

“ _Definitely_ the main bus. I’ve been _dying_ to check it out,” and walking off.

On her right, Catra’s looking a little red too, but everyone splits when Sea Hawk claims the school bus for group two. 

Adora tries not to bristle when Perfuma gives her a wink, eyeing Catra’s back as she walks off.

Honestly, Adora’s used to it from Bow and Glimmer--but _others?_ And _Lonnie_ of all people? It’s weird. People are _noticing_ , and yeah, she’s not exactly trying to cover anything up, but it’s just weird for people to see anything _more_ between them when all of their intimate moments (she does _not_ blush) have been private. 

But maybe it’s more obvious than she thinks later on as Catra leans into her back, chin on her shoulder as she watches Adora play now that she’s been killed several games in.

The breath on her neck makes her tense--nerves on edge with the Puma so close to her and heart stuttering just slightly at this type of contact.

Catra and her have been back to back the entire time--everybody is back to back with someone to prevent cheating (except for Entrapta, who has made a cocoon/shield out of her hair), but this is new.

Well, to be fair, Catra’s been imposter four times in a row so she’s been busy, but it seems now that she’s on a crewmate streak, she’s a prime target for revenge kills so she’s been relaxed against Adora for a while now. Like _really_ relaxed--practically cuddled into her back relaxed, and it’s making it hard for her to concentrate which is a problem because _she’s_ an imposter for the first time and Glimmer just got caught killing DT and was voted out, so she’s on her own.

Adora’s a second away from sticking her knife in an oblivious Bow’s back when she feels lips ghost her ear.

“Don’t do it,” Catra whispers, and not a moment later, Mermista’s cyan blob and Lonnie’s black one enter the room.

_How did she know?_ She can’t be looking at the other’s phones with her chin on her shoulder, and those two aren’t near them to peek anyway.

Adora bites her lip and pretends to fake wires, cursing in her mind since out loud would give her away.

“Hit the lights.”

Catra’s voice is so soft she almost doesn’t hear it, but she barely catches it so she hits sabotage.

“Now kill Lonnie, vent to lower engine, and go fix lights in electrical.”

She bites further into her lip, taking out Lonnie’s cartoon blob that stands guard a little behind Mermista’s as she does the simon says task in reactor. Adora does the kill, looping around the body to stay out of Mermista’s range of sight and hopping in the vent. She sees Netossa’s white character coming down the hall from upper engine when she vents out, popping in front of her before she gets too close and beating her to lights, where everyone else is already.

When sight is restored for the crewmates, Netossa is just barely entering the room and Mermista has apparently finished her task, since she reports the body.

“First of all, how dare you,” she growls, putting down her phone and glaring at the wall since they agreed to not look at each other after Bow’s meltdown (“I’m sorry! It’s me. I’m the imposter! I can’t look you in the eyes and lie to you.”). “She’s been my buddy the whole round and was literally right behind me, so the sheer _audacity_ means it can’t be Bow.”

“Nope--wasn’t me!” He happily agrees.

“Self report,” Netossa raises her voice. “The rest of us were in electrical. There’s no way any of us could have done it.”

“False,” Entrapta cuts her off. “You were just entering the room after I fixed lights. It’s quite likely you did a ‘drive by,’” she says, making finger quotes.

“Uh, I definitely did _not_. I didn’t even go into reactor!” 

“It’s sus that you immediately blamed Mermista,” Adora inputs.

She sits back and lets Mermista and Netossa argue, jumping only slightly when Catra softly purrs in her ear at the devolving chaos.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Bow says, voice cracking a little as he tries to be heard over them.

“The most logical move forward would be to vote--” Entrapta pauses, voice getting robotic--“white and if not, cyan. Correct?”

Bow voices his approval and Adora nods before stumbling because _they can’t see me_ and choking out “right.”

“No, don’t! You’re literally going to lose if you vote me out.”

“Not necessarily, Netossa,” Entrapta counters. “Statistically, crewmates still have a good chance of winning since voting someone out now would leave us with four, which is still a majority and not easily disrupted by a sabotage kill.”

Adora’s phone flashes before Nestossa can speak again--the others have already voted.

“Fine,” she grumbles and Adora chuckles in her head, gleefully watching the white blob get thrown out of the airlock--Nets4life is not an imposter.

Bow gasps loudly, widening his eyes and looking at Mermista before forcing his head back forward.

Catra silently laughs behind her and Adora can’t help but grin.

“You need another light kill,” the words trickle sweetly into her ear. “Don’t kill Mermista.”

Adora agrees but knows she needs to gain someone’s trust to make the vote easy. Mermista could, after all, get Entrapta or Bow on her side.

She’s following Bow when she gets her opportunity.

Bow scanned in medbay and Adora did the friendly dance, so they’ve been stuttering across the screen--dancing with each other--as Bow completes his final tasks. When Adora hits lights, they head together toward electric, though Adora purposely runs into a few things to slow herself down. Twice, Bow waits, and Adora sticks to his edge of vision afterwards. They head into storage from the top, coming down the left side when Entrapta slides in from the right, going under the boxes. In a matter of seconds, Adora slides slightly away from Bow and intercepts the purple crewmate, moving quickly back into his sight before they enter electrical. Not a moment later, the body is reported.

Bow is already yelling. “Self report! Self report! Oh my god!”

“What? No, wait--” Mermista tries to defend herself, but Bow is still yelling.

“You were sussed last round and I’ve been with Adora the entire time. It has to be you!”

Catra’s purrs get a little louder for a moment, saying what Adora already knows-- _it’s over._

And when Mermista gets thrown, Lonnie groans, and Bow stares confusedly at the red defeat on his screen, Adora and Catra burst out laughing.

“Hell yeah!” Glimmer cheers, leaning over and giving her a high five.

“Well played,” DT agrees, voice smooth as they look between the two of them.

Netossa catches their gaze, running her own eyes over a cackling Adora and Catra before she throws her phone on the floor.

“You!” She yells, pointing at Catra. “I should’ve known.”

Catra snorts. “As if. Not like you caught me before.”

Netossa makes her own snort.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance if Adora and I were imposters together. We are the S tier.”

“Please,” Netossa laughs. “Everyone’s tells are obvious--I just get killed too early on to smoke you out.”

“Sure,” Adora chuckles.

Netossa’s face creases into something more focused and determined while she stands. “Don’t ‘sure’ me. I’m not wrong”

She points to Entrapa. “Entrapta uses logic and big words to sound smart and confuse people.”

Then DT. “DT gaslights.”

Lonnie laughs when she says “Lonnie self reports and blames witnesses.”

Mermista shrugs at “Mermista marinates her buddy.”

Bow cringes at “Bow feels too bad to kill people, so no kills mean he’s an imp.”

“Glimmer slaughters everyone without reservation,” and the pink-haired girl cackles.

“Adora gets quiet,” and, well, she’s not wrong.

“And _you_ ,” Netossa says, eyes narrowed at Catra as she nears the Magicat.

“ _Moi?_ Please, like you could find the tells of someone so high calib--”

But she’s at her feet, half-drank water bottle in hand with the cap off.

“You hide in the vents and sabotage lights.”

Netossa dumps the bottle on Catra’s head and the Puma yelps.

  
  
  


Adora can’t help but giggle at the memory of Catra’s startled _mrow!_ and the hiss that followed as she tackled Netossa, using the jacket that the other girl was still wearing to dry her hair.

Honestly, she’s kind of just a cat sometimes. 

But Adora could probably put an air horn to her ear right now and she wouldn’t jump. Too used to the train tracks, she guesses.

They stayed up late playing the game so their after-lunch nap was well needed, though it seemed Catra’s unconscious form wasn’t willing to give it up yet.

“Catra,” Adora whispers, shaking her lightly and watching her face scrunch up slightly.

_Prbbbt?_

The sound falls out of her slightly open mouth, head cocking toward Adora’s body as a stab of affection goes through her heart.

_Literally just a cat!_

Catra groans and it sounds human this time. 

  
“Don’t wanna.”

When she curls up against her side, Adora’s damn near tempted to tell her to cancel the show, but a yell from below silences her before she’s even spoken.

“Lets’ go, sleepy heads! We’ll be unloading soon,” Scorpia calls up.

“Ugh,” Catra sighs. “I’ve still gotta throw my outfits for tonight in a garment bag. Fuck, can I do it in pajamas? I’m not in the mood to be choosy.”

Adora laughs. “For a Seattle show? Uh, yeah, probably not.”

The Magicat sits up, bringing her pillow forward and whacking Adora with it in one smooth motion before jumping out of the bed and out of reach.

“I’m not wrong!”

“No,” she says, staring into the closet and running her fingers over a few options. “But you still deserved it. Now come over here and help me pick.”

Adora chuckles on her way over, feet chilly on the cool, epoxy floor.

“Which choker are you gonna wear today?”

She hums, looking through the two hangers that have them dangling from them before unclipping one and putting it on, resting her matching one with Melog in its safe spot. 

“I’m feeling _spicy_ today,” she grins, the smile reaching her eyes with her canines poking out, looking just as deadly as the cone-spikes that adorn the leather that clicks into a gold diamond with a lime-colored Horde symbol at the front.

“Spicy?” Adora snorts. “Yeah, okay, let me see then.”

She puts a hand into the closet, letting her fingers skim through the clothes inside as she inspects the options. Adora almost immediately pulls out a pair of pants and shoves them toward Catra, who cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Pajamas are a no-go but spandex would work.”

The Magicat nods, taking a moment to admire the stretchy, black fabric like she hasn’t seen the pair in awhile. Catra hums, grinning again. “I could do a lot of jumping around in these. Maybe I could show off a little more tonight.”

Adora snorts. “Please, you’re _constantly_ showing off.”

Catra just laughs, and it makes her smile.

The sound is still echoing in her ears as she moves through the clothes, skipping the dress shirts and suits that Adora is certain look absolutely divine on the feline. _Heh, that rhymes_. Dressy and spandex don’t really mix, though, so she moves on, and happily cuz Catra’s got a few crop tops that make her blush. She almost skims past them all before she freezes.

“Bow would _die_ if he saw you in this. You know he and Glimmer are like huge fans? He loves crop tops, and I swear to god seeing you in this will make him pass out.”

_And me, for that matter._

It’s a simple garb--nothing too crazy--but the lack of fabric is part of what makes it great.

It’s black with mesh sleeves that stop above the elbows. The mesh connects across the chest, though the actual _chest_ chest covering is a solid fabric that has straps that go up under the mesh and over the shoulders. And the part that makes it so killer? It’s Catra’s signature cutout that shows her cleavage but it’s in the shape of a _heart_.

Catra smirks. “Well then I have to wear it, don’t I?”

Adora giggles excitedly, though they cut off with a squeak when she pulls a red, lapel-collared jacket from the rack.

“Oh my god, this looks so much like my old jacket!”

The Magicat looks at her softly.

“I see you traded leather for denim though and I mean--to each their own.”

Catra rolls her eyes. “I bought that a few years ago. It reminded me of you.”

The admission makes Adora smile. “Softy. This is definitely mine now, though.”

The other girl laughs, swiping it from her hands and throwing it in the garment bag. “In your dreams.”

Adora tickles her a couple times before jumping out of reach, dodging grasping hands and grinning at the shriek that accompanies them. 

“Fine, but that means _you_ gotta pick out your shoes,” and in a moment of childishness, she sticks out her tongue before sliding quickly down the ladder, using her sleeves to loosely grip the sides and smooth out her descent. 

“Oi! _Ten cuidado, idiota! Ay, Dios mío._ ”

She’s still snickering when the bus comes to a stop and she hops off to find Bow and Glimmer.

  
  
  


Adora doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the way her bones rattle backstage at The Horde’s concerts.

Even before they start, the audience cheers without any care for their vocal chords it seems, eagerly anticipating the final seconds of waiting. The sound is potent, causing the floor to vibrate and her teeth to clatter. After her jaw started smarting awhile back because of it, she took to chewing gum during the shows and it’s been helping, but it doesn’t help with her motion sickness. 

Being backstage during The Horde’s concerts feels like being on a boat and she doesn’t have sea legs.

With the help of Dramamine, sheer determination, and adrenaline, Adora’s learned to manage though, and honestly? _Thank God_. 

It’s like another world behind the concert instead of out front. 

Onstage, it’s practiced art--seamless in how everyone’s talents come together for a single product.

Backstage? It’s _wild_.

Entrapta’s always manning the soundboard and lights out in the audience. 

Adora learned very quickly that the purple-haired girl is _very_ attached to her lightboard, and there’s no one better to man the soundboard either. She’d question how the _hell_ she manages both at the same time, but it’s _Entrapta_ , and you don’t question genius. Her genius just _is_.

It’s apparent in the light programming and the way the audience is captivated under the glow of the show. It’s obvious in the pureness of the mixing, and so very _vital_ when she leads set-up, making sure that there’s enough power, the cords are organized and go where they’re supposed to, and anything broken or not up to par is made better _immediately_ upon identification--and _nothing_ ever gets past her.

Entrapta is in constant communication with Kadroh and Fluterina, who take care of the other side of things backstage. They’re at her beck and call, readily adjusting monitors, switching out and managing the band’s equipment, and handling any fires (both metaphorically _and_ literally) when they arise tech-wise. 

Watching them work in tandem is like its own art.

Somehow, Kadroh and Fluterina easily glide through the tasks, picking up where the other left off without hiccup. They’re intensely in-sync and it’s _scary_ to watch them--constantly moving, communicating, getting guitars ready, adjusting. It’s a flurry of activity, but somehow that doesn’t seem obvious out front.

Scorpia acts as stage manager, so she must take the “manager” title pretty seriously, being as she’s also the band’s tour and production manager, as well. 

And she’s just as genius with her own work as the others.

In the chaos and movement behind the show, Scorpia is organizing it all.

Even with local crews who have _no_ _idea_ what they’re doing, Scorpia brings them together like cogs in a machine doing their parts to make the whole function. She directs, delegates, and ensures that staging, hospitality, costumes, and _more_ are exactly as they should be, fixing errors when they arise. The scorpian-hybrid always has a smile on her face, but her smile while she’s working is just _different_ \--confident and proud, like she’s sure of her place here and the work she does and that gives her immense satisfaction, even when it’s tough. 

Like right now.

“The contract is airtight. He can’t be here.”

“I paid for my backstage pass just like the others, fair and square.”

Okay, maybe not _exactly_ right now because for the first time since meeting her, Scorpia gets less friendly by the minute the more they keep arguing.

“No,” she says with firmness that makes Adora tense up. “There aren’t any loopholes here. Our contract with you guys clearly states that no other press may be backstage, independent contractors included.”

The venue's representative looks like he’s about to spontaneously drop the remaining hairs on his balding head. “Yes, ma’am, but--”

The independent contractor in question butts in again. “I still paid so I have a right to be here.”

The man is short, dressed nicely in a navy blazer with a gold-trimmed collar and magenta cuffs and with combed-back seafoam green hair that’s lighter closer to the roots. By all means, he’s a beautiful man--symmetrical, soft features, well painted makeup and nail polish, slim frame and what are definitely real, italian leather shoes. Still, there’s something undeniably _slimy_ about him behind that mask. Something in his eyes that’s shady and in his aura that prickles Adora’s skin.

And he’s playing with fire and either doesn’t realize it or somehow isn’t bothered cuz Adora’s not even at the end of Scorpia’s glare and she’s getting burned. 

“No. But _I_ have a right to kick you out of here. Huntara!”

“Wait!” The venue rep blurts, raising his hands in surrender. “Look, he bought a ticket for the show, so why don’t we just let him participate like any other member of the audience? He puts away the camera and he gets to stay. It’s a win-win compromise.”

The darker Scorpia looks, the more Adora feels like she shouldn’t be here.

She was just trying to record the crew work with Bow, and then _he_ snuck away from the VIP area and got caught. He’s lucky Scorpia caught him at the same time Glimmer did otherwise her short, sparkly friend would’ve ripped him to pieces. 

But still, if Scorpia snapped and decided to wreck the guy, Adora would help.

And he would deserve it, just like he deserved all the hell coming to him when he wrote that article and released those pictures of Catra years ago.

“Mr. Peekablue,” Scorpia grits through her teeth, speaking in a tone that sounds so unlike her it gives Adora goosebumps. “You may enjoy the concert with the other VIPs as long as your devices remain off and you don’t cross any more lines. If any infractions occur I will _personally_ evacuate you from this building. Are we clear?”

His grin is shaky and he sounds choked when he replies “crystal.” 

And it’s unnerving watching him retreat but not _leave_ because he has no right--or, well, _shouldn’t_ have any right to be near the band after writing such a god awful article, but there he goes.

If not for Scorpia standing next to her, steaming but professional, she might have decked him just for the fuck of it.

“Good riddance,” Glimmer spits from her side, appearing again after Bow had torn her away from the area.

When Adora cringes, Glimmer sets her jaw.

“Oh man,” Bow whines. “Tell me he’s gone for good?”

When neither Scorpia or Adora reply, Glimmer nearly _growls_ and takes off. 

“That’s it. I’m going to actually kill him.”

Adora doesn’t have the willpower to stop her, but a pincer blocks her friend’s path.

“Don’t--he’s not worth the trouble. The concert’s barely halfway through and the band doesn’t need this mess while they’re trying to put on a good show. So let’s just--” she pauses, taking a long, deep breath. “--relax, okay?”

Glimmer’s anger is boiling and she honestly can’t blame her--Adora’s just as eager to go after him.

“Fine,” Glimmer sighs. “But if I see him back here again, I’m not calling for Huntara; _I’m_ going to take care of it.”

“You and me both,” Adora grumbles but relents, knowing that Scorpia’s right.

In the silence that follows--or the metaphorical silence since it was actually loud as _fuck_ \--Adora stands there awkwardly, feeling her body tense up more and more like someone was slowly winding her muscles tighter. It’s uncomfortable, and she runs her stubby nails over her arms to try and soothe herself but it isn’t really working.

_Christ, I wish Swifty were here_.

The sound and the chaos is just too much for him, though, so he always has to stay back, which is usually fine but right now?

She could really use his knowing presence.

God or whomst-the-fuck-ever must have really said ‘screw this kid’ when Adora was made because Anxiety _and_ ADHD is a really messed up combo. Her mind is always in shambles--even when she’s organized everything, even the amount of time she brushes her _teeth_ each morning, to a tee. But moments like this? When there are so many different sounds and movements around her while her thoughts are already screaming? 

She can feel her senses overloading while she tries to calm down thoughts of _beat him to a pulp_ and the flashing images of the pictures she saw of Catra in the hospital bed and that fucked up article where the bastard revealed all those sensitive, shoulda-been _private_ details about what Weaver did. The bruises, the bandages, the distorted features…

Breathing gets harder by the second. She’s so wound up that her chest is too tight, restricting her lungs and limiting her oxygen. Her hands don’t get the message though as they clench into shaking fists that want nothing more than to slam right into Peekablue the more she loses her cool. Adora’s so far from cool--she’s burning up, and a bead of sweat drips from her brow as her body rages within.

She’s nearing explosion when Bow startles her, gleefully cheering out and jumping around in excitement.

“Oh my Ellen Degeneres, what is that _shirt!_ "

Adora lifts her eyes to look at one of the screens Scorpia has set up to monitor the show.

Catra’s jacket has just now finished flopping into DT’s arms. In one swift motion, it’s tucked into their side and they bow before following the others off stage, and Catra slings her guitar behind her, taking her mic out of the stand.

“Whew, is it hot in here or is that just me,” she smirks with her _voice_ in that very Catra way of hers--all seduction and confidence. “Just me? Hmm, I’d say maybe I should go...let this place cool off a bit...but where’s the fun in that?”

Lonnie isn’t quite off stage yet so she pauses, looking at her like she’d said Frida Kahlo was _just okay_ \--face etched deep with disgust as she shakes her head and continues to walk off.

Honestly, she’s probably not wrong but she’s immune to Catra’s charm. Everyone, Adora included? Absolutely _weak_ to it.

Catra laughs, nose scrunching up in that cute way of hers that was so rare in their youth. It’s genuine, happy, and intoxicating--so much so that it washes over her, flushing out thoughts of the nitwit and maiming him and replacing them with little firecrackers in her chest.

Adora turns her head to see that Bow’s cupped his hands to his cheeks, mouth open and curled upward in shock--the _good_ kind--and pupils making heart shapes. Glimmer is so stunned she’s blank-faced, though she brings a hand to wipe her mouth.

_Drool?_

Adora snorts and feels her body relax.

“I told her you guys would act like this when you saw it.”

They turn toward her slightly, eyes dragging behind like they’re unwilling to tear their gaze from the Magicat.

“What?” Bow asks in response, taking several moments to process.

Glimmer does the same, but loads much quicker. “Wait--are you saying _you_ picked out that shirt? Like _th_ _at_ shirt?”

Adora raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she wanted my help.”

Glimmer gasps and squeals, dramatically grabbing her and Bow’s hand and looking wide-eyed back and forth between them. “That’s, like, practically _lingerie._ ”

Her face heats up immediately. “No! You said yourself that it was a shirt.”

Bow giggles, squeezing Glimmer’s hand and dancing in place. “Barely!”

“God, that’s _hot,_ ” Glimmer groans with a teasing look.

Adora can feel the steam come out of her ears.

_Lingerie_ brings several images to mind that leaves her both embarrassed and a little turned on, and she knows that they know she’s not thinking innocently.

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pupils dilating as she watches the Puma on the screen.

Catra’s still talking but the words don’t register. Adora’s too busy taking in her flushed cheeks and the perspiration on her face. She watches a thick drop of sweat bead on her head and slide down her face, dropping off her chin when she lifts it and landing on her chest before going _down_ , and for a moment Adora doesn’t even care that she’s unabashedly staring at her cleavage. Well, until she chastises herself for being like a creepy fan, then gets puffed up because people are _not_ allowed to look at her like that, and then realizes that her friends are still watching and she’d really rather not feed more into their teasing.

“Seriously, you guys suck.”

Bow grins and Glimmer rolls her eyes. “Sure we do.”

“But seriously,” Bow says as he watches the monitor. “She looks great.”

And Adora really can’t lie. “Yeah,” she sighs knowing full well how lame and obvious her pining is. “She’s incredible.”

She’s so absorbed in Catra’s theatrics--cartwheels while she solos, jumping off of monitors, even hopping onto the gate that separates the band from the fans, using her balance to keep upright--and giggling incredulously that she doesn’t notice the two staring at her and speaking in that secret, silent language of theirs. 

She’s just started shaking her head as Catra glides over the crowd keeping her aloft when they speak again. 

“Hey Adora,” Bow says in as much of a whisper as his voice can be backstage.

She startles, confused by their questioning faces. “Yeah?”

For a moment he looks at his feet, then at Glimmer, who nods her head with an encouraging look. When he meets her gaze again, his eyes are open and honest. “How do you feel about Catra?”

The question startles her for a second time and sends her mouth into a fumbling mess. “I--uh, just said she’s incredible? And it’s, like, great to have her back in my life cuz I missed her so much, and I dunno, she’s like super talented and pretty and everything but she’s still just _Catra_ and that’s, uh, cool? And--”

Glimmer cuts her off before she can keep stumbling. “We know that already; we can tell. Bow means how do you _like_ her,” she says bluntly but not unkindly. If anything, she’s gentle and even more so when she adds “and I think you know that.” 

Adora wants nothing more than to curl into herself in this moment, but it’s a fair question--one she’s been avoiding. She already knows the answer to that, though, and she knows Bow and Glimmer do too. She’s just fighting it at this point. It’s not as simple as the movies make it seem, though. How does she word it? Adora’s safe with her friends--she knows that--but once those words are out there, there’s no taking them back; they’ll be spoken into the universe forever. 

“I’m scared,” she whispers, and their faces are confused because they can’t hear her over the music. 

She takes a deep breath and tries again before she chokes. “I’m scared.”

The looks they give her are welcoming and warm.

“What about?” Bow asks.

And it just falls out. “I’m scared that if I say it out loud, there’s no going back.”

Glimmer’s hand gently grabs hers again. “Is that so bad?”

“I don’t know.”

It could be. It could not be. But it’s so hard to cross that threshold when even a tiny thought about being rejected and distanced from Catra again sends her into a panic. 

_I can’t do that again. I need her here._

Even if here doesn’t mean physically--she knows their worlds will take them elsewhere--but maybe spiritually? Like somewhere inside her. Someplace where her memories and feelings about Catra can make a home and the Puma can return; not somewhere that gets dusty and that’s walls ache and bend the more time passes.

“Have you ever considered staying in Brightmoon Music instead of trying for investigative journalism?”

Her brows knit together and a frown sets hard on her face. _What? "_ No.”

Glimmer rubs circles on the back of her hand with her thumb. “And why’s that?”

“Because it’s what I want. It’s my dream.”

“Exactly,” Bow says. “Why would you just give that up? How’s Catra any different?”

The realization dawns on her with the force of the soccer ball she took to the head her freshman year of high school.

It was the last game of the season. Her team was 2-1 with the other’s and they were battling for 3rd place in state. It was the last thirty seconds and the opposing team had the ball. Everyone was exhausted but the coach was shouting on the sidelines to keep going and they wanted to--they all did. But a defender had jelly-legs when the forward screamed past them with the ball, easily kicking it between their feet and making her teammate stumble.

Their other defenders were too far behind, so Adora ran as fast as she could to catch up--the type of run where you don’t care what you like. It was all performance and channeled desperation, and she felt like a runaway train car as she tried to put herself between the forward and the net. Her goalie was there at the ready but was just as tired, and when the forward faked left, they jumped, but she immediately adjusted right to kick the ball on the final second.

But Adora was there with her “humongous-ass” forehead to block it, as Catra said.

Fuck, the girl kicked it with the power to smite _God_ , and Adora was knocked flat immediately. She didn’t see stars--she saw _black_ , and for a moment thought she was either knocked out of existence or literally blinded. 

She doesn’t know exactly how long it took her to come back down but when she did she was terrified.

What happened? What’s going on? Where was she? Why was her vision so messed up?

She barely had time to panic before she felt her hand grasped firmly and when she turned her head toward the source, everything fell into place. 

Catra cooed reassurances that were mostly kind, and when her sight cleared and the sun blazed behind the girl’s head like she was some sort of snarky angel, she’d never felt religion like she’d felt with the Magicat’s stressed, grateful smile and hoarse “fuck, _idiota._ You must have a thick skull. Like a peanut M & M--thick shell and tiny nut in the center. _Hijo de puta_ , don’t fucking do that again.”

Adora’s rarely speechless--words are her livelihood, after all--but she opens and closes her mouth a couple times before stopping. Bow and Glimmer are beaming at her with pride and she can see in the reflection of their eyes how intensely she’s glowing, so she just nods several times, lips curled upward in a smile she couldn’t even try to get rid of. 

They pull her in for a hug and she squeezes them with all of her strength and gratefulness. 

“Okay, okay--”

“Adora, I think you’re breaking my spine.”

She laughs and doesn’t even roll her eyes.

From beyond her friends, she sees Catra come off stage, swapping out with the others to take a quick break. An aid rushes a towel and a water bottle to her and she gives her thanks before taking several gulps and wiping the sweat from her face.

Glimmer nudges her, laughing and nodding once in the Magicat’s direction. “Go.”

She shakes her head and takes a few steps forward.

“And Adora?”

“Yeah?”

Bow smiles. “You don’t always have to work hard for others. You can put your energy into what _you_ want, too, okay?”

“And hey! Don’t forget--she cares for you too. You’ve heard her music. Don’t count yourself out of anything when it comes to Catra. You’re not the only one with feelings.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, heart full and encouraged and so, _so_ thankful to have the support she does. “Okay.”

When she steps off again, Catra’s surrounded by people but she’s looking around. Her gaze stops on her and she smiles as she uses the towel on the back of her neck to wipe more sweat from her throat. Her eyes follow Adora as she approaches without moving once.

From behind, Bow and Glimmer still watch.

“Wow,” Glimmer sighs happily.

“If anyone deserves an epic romance, it’s Adora,” Bow agrees.

Glimmer hums, pulling their intertwined fingers to her chest to cradle them. 

For a few blissful minutes, they watch them talk, seeing how an already pumped Catra livens that much more when Adora approaches and how their friend so quickly loses herself in happiness, going to Cloud 9 in seconds. They’re so caught up in it that it takes them a while to realize that they’re not only still holding hands but also _how_ they’re holding hands.

Immediately, they loosen their grips and they drop, cheeks flushing red as Bow rubs the back of his neck and Glimmer crosses an arm over her midsection.

Bow clears his throat. “Um, uh, good work.”

Glimmer does the same. “Yeah. Yeah! You too.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao when I said that I'd reply to everyone's comments and then didn't...I'm sorry! Lol really I try but between school and work I've been more focused on making content then interacting with you all and I stink for that. Your comments give me life though and it makes me so happy to see so many of you enjoying this story and catching onto plot points and stuff! Seriously, it's so cool and I love it.
> 
> This chapter is a little rough, so I apologize for that but I still hope you enjoy the update! 
> 
> Look out for part 2 of this concert! It's not over yet, folks, and buckle your seatbelts--we're taking more detours from Wholesome now.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things abruptly change for Catra after the concert.

“And if you’re there to catch me when I fall, then maybe hell ain’t so bad after all.”

The words leaving her lungs make her feel so strong, so powerful surrounded by all of this music--her friends a chorus repeating that final stanza on their own as she gazes across the crowd.

The lights are brighter now, revealing everyone’s faces.

Smiles. Tears. Singing. Shouting. Even calm--like these people have never been more relaxed, more present than in this moment.

Catra makes eye contact with many and offers that biggest grin she can. 

It’s not hard--the rush of successfully finishing another show already has her in ecstacy. And it’s surreal to be able to be here in this moment so often. Yeah, maybe not in Seattle--this is their first show here after all--but she doesn’t mean location. This feeling that floods her heart and mind is a constant in her life when she’s performing and it’s the one thing besides her family that she cherishes above all. 

To be able to do what she loves and share that with others is therapeutic.

To lose herself in her music with her loved ones?

It’s healing.

And she’s so grateful.

So much so that she’s still standing there, looking across the stadium even though the song has ended and she’s supposed to be wrapping it up. 

The audience looks just as reluctant to leave this moment, and they smile at each other in knowing.

Who knows how long Catra would’ve stood there if not for DT.

They cross to the front of the stage and carefully grab her by the waist, bringing her in for a gentle side-hug. 

“Goodnight, Seattle,” they purr before guiding Catra off stage by their side.

Backstage is a flutter of activity as the crew preps for tear-down.

People are in constant movement, though most tell her “great show!” or “good job.” She stops once to sign a folded up poster one of the local crew brought in--

_“I know you’re probably busy and this might not be the best time, but I’d really appreciate it if you could sign this. My son is a huge fan of yours.”_

_“It’s no problem at all. What’s his name?”_

_“Oli.”_

  
  


_Oli,_

_Thanks for your continued support, force captain._

_Catra_

  
  


\--but is otherwise able to head straight back to the rack cases and put her guitar in.

Maybe it’s not commonplace amongst other musicians, but Catra likes packing up her instruments. It just makes her feel better to know they’re locked up tight and not being run off with or worse--damaged. 

It makes her entire body cringe to see other performers destroy guitars on stage. Perks of growing up poor in Detroit--whenever you get something nice, you treat it like a precious glass vase. Years later, it doesn’t hurt her as much--just bums her out to know that if the guitar was that expendable, the player could’ve easily donated it instead of wasting it. So yeah--it’s important to Catra that her stuff is taken care of. They might not be hers forever and ensuring they have a long life is critical. 

So she slides it in, checking to make sure the other guitars look alright before locking it up and double checking the next one.

_Good_.

Catra has full confidence in her crew, but some things--anxieties included--don’t change, so it’s her aftershow routine, as is meeting with the fans.

Sometimes Scorpia gives her time to head outside and meet general admissions, but they have to get back on the road in good time for their Oregon concert. Therefore, she’s been given clear instructions to stay backstage. And yeah: she definitely stuck her tongue out at the manager, despite agreeing with and appreciating her.

That doesn’t mean _no fans_ , though--she can still meet the VIPs.

Usually, the whole band tries to make it for these, but they’re down on local crew so Rogelio and Kyle are helping teardown. Lonnie volunteered to drive that night so she went straight back to the bus to take a nap, and DT is being interviewed by Adora, so that leaves Catra to talk to the group, which isn’t a big deal. She’s not great at a lot of things, but there are a small handful that Catra excels at. Teamwork? Terrible--it’s the reason why she never did sports, despite how much Adora wanted her to play soccer. Meeting with fans? Oh yeah. Good or bad, Catra’s got it.

And really, this lot is pretty normal.

There’s a couple guys who’re definitely stoned but are vibing. They only exchange a couple of words because they keep getting distracted by each other’s ramblings ( _“is lasagna pasta cake?” “No,” she butts in. “It’s pasta meatloaf.”_ _They gasp loudly._ )

A group of college-age girls are clumped together like pack animals out of their environment. They’re all practically hip to hip, eyes carefully watching her movements, and nervous laughter. One of them looks a little more relaxed and she’s easier to speak with but she keeps looking Catra up and down with half-lidded eyes, and honestly? She’s pretty, but no thanks. Her pack of friends are a little creepy and Catra hasn’t slept with anyone on tour since...last year? Something like that. The Magicat spends a polite amount of time with them because they probably saved up for this experience so she doesn’t want to cheat them of it. However, she does scoot away a little faster than normal upon bidding them goodbye. 

There's also an older lady back here with what looks like her granddaughter, and they’re awesome. 

Grandma’s got on a biker jacket, smells like sage, and has pocket tarot cards. She promises to give her a reading when she’s done with the others. She also hands her butterscotch candies every several minutes. Not once does Catra see her dig for one so she wouldn’t doubt it if she were conjuring them from thin air. 

Kiddo’s got more energy than the Energizer bunny. She asks questions rapid-fire and Catra gives her responses the same way. 

“Favorite book.”

“Flight.”

“Coffee or tea.”

“Espresso.”

“Current celebrity crush.”

“Me.”

“Hogwarts House.”

“Hufflepuff.”

“Really? I’m a Ravenclaw. Patronus?”

“Thestral.”

“Oh cool! Mine’s a hare. Is cereal a soup?”

“Yes.”

“Worst--”

“Dear,” the grandma jumps in laughing. “How about while we wait you come up with _one_ really good question you’d like her to answer.”

“Five.”

“Two.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Deal.”

Catra laughs too, popping another candy into her mouth.

She bids them adieu for now, moving further down the hall to catch any stragglers.

And there is one--just around the corner leant into the wall and making eye contact like he knew she’d be appearing right then.

Catra scowls.

“That’s not very polite.”

“ _Vete a la chingada._ ”

She’s just turned to go back but he catches her by the wrist before she can move.

Immediately, she reels back around and hisses in his face, fangs bared. 

And the blue-headed douchebag cowers before forcing bravado and standing upright again.

“That’s fair. Look,” Peekablue says, raising his hands in surrender. “I come in peace. Okay? Not looking for trouble. Already got plenty after publishing that article.”

“You deserved it,” Catra says, taking a step back and crossing her arms.

“I did. And I lost everything because of it. I’m not about to do that again, alright? I just wanted to apologize”

She narrows her eyes.

_He’s a well-practiced liar._

“ _Que pinche carajo_. Cut the shit, _cabron_. I’m not fucking stupid.’” She growls. 

His long face slowly tightens, lips curling slightly upward and brows raising.

“How silly of me to forget that you’re not the gullible type,” Peekablue drawls and straightens. 

Catra glares and unsheathes her claws.

“Fine. Look--I’ve been an independent contractor ever since. Nobody’s been willing to hire me and last season’s Gucci is _not_ cute, so I’m desperate.”

“Clearly,” she snarls. 

He sighs in defeat, but it’s dramatic. 

_Pendejo. Who does he think he’s trying to fool?_

She friends with _DT_ for fuck’s sake. They are the _master_ at deception and struggle to pass things by her. This guy? Just pathetic. 

“So why are you here,” she mocks, playing along.

“A favor. And wait--before you slit my throat, let me speak.”

_Dioses,_ was she close to pouncing from the shear audacity. 

Peekablue takes in a deep breath to prepare himself and his slicked back hair bounces into his eyesight, having become unstuck by sweat. He glides a hand through it to put it back and his palm comes back sticky.

Catra sours.

“The only way to fix this is through you.”

She snorts. “What--are you asking me if you can put me on your _references_?”

He kneads his brows. “No, just let me speak. That wouldn’t work anyways. It’s too weird and it doesn’t clear me with the public. Last thing I need is to finally get something published and for some dweeb to recognize my name and have everything blow up.”

He wipes his clammy hands on his pants, leaving marks on his thigh from the sweat and hair gel.

“An interview. Nothing too crazy. No exclusive content--that’s all Brightmoon, okay? Just something simple where we can chat and I can ask you questions. Something that’ll show that there’s no more bad beef between us. Hell, I’ll even start it by apologizing. All I need is maybe an hour of your time. So?”

Peekablue sticks out his nasty hand and Catra would rather die than shake it.

“ _Suéltame en banda._ Goodbye, _Swen_.”

She’s gotta leave before she kills him. Will anyone miss him? Doubtful. But getting thrown in prison isn’t an option.

But when he grabs her wrist _again_ , Catra doesn’t hesitate to swing her right hand around, claws out and ready to slice because _fuck_ the nerve of this--

She freezes, and not just her movements. Her entire body turns into a block of ice and her blood runs cold. 

_No_.

She mentally tries to shake her head and clear the fog.

_No. No fucking way. No._

But she can’t say it out loud, and that kills her, makes her want to die so badly for betraying her progress and being a bystander in the impending breakdown.

Peekablue knows this and brings the baggie up to his face, which forces her eyes back up.

“I never said you wouldn’t get anything out of it.”

_No! Fuck you! Fuck you!_

“I know a way to get you these without anyone finding out. The world won’t know, your friends won’t know--hell, it might even go over _your_ head, too.”

He shakes the baggie a little, and the circular, green pills rattle quietly in a familiar coo that sounds too much like _Catra_.

“You know what? Think about it. How about I catch you again sometime when you guys are in the south, huh? You can give me your decision then. In the meantime,” the baggie drops and gets roughly shoved into his pocket and Catra hates the way her mouth goes dry. “I’ll keep these and we’ll see you in a few weeks. Here,” Peekablue says, handing out a business card. “Just in case you have questions.” 

He winks--sly, cocky demeanor back because he _knows_ he just won.

Catra doesn’t respond and she hates herself for it.

When she doesn’t take it, he slips it into the pocket of her jacket.

“Well, ta-ta,” he says, rounding the corner. “Oh,” he stops, looking back at her in mock surprise and pointing onward. “Looks like you have some people waiting for you.” He smirks with his teeth showing. “Better get over there, superstar. Don’t want to let them down, do you?”

He drops the finger and his lips settle into something that’s sure and at ease though Catra is anything but. 

“Hello! She’ll be back over in a second!” He shouts, giving her no time to recover. “See you soon.”

“I figured out my questions!” The girl shouts back, and the grandma shushes her.

Catra wants nothing more than to collapse to the floor, throw up, and die, but she can’t do it right now. Not with them out there. 

“One,” she whispers without sound--voice not back yet.

_Stand up straight._

“Two,” and there’s a slight crack of sound.

_Un-hunch your shoulders._

“Three,” in a quiet rasp.

_Wipe your face for any tears._

_None? Good. Less to cover up._

“Four,” in an actual whisper.

_Fix your face--smile! Be happy! You’re famous, kid!_

“Five. Five. Five,” she repeats until her voice is steady and doesn’t sound so desolate. 

Catra takes a deep breath and rounds the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this is your captain speaking. Please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle and remain seated. We're taking a trip back to angst town because healing isn't linear and the life of stardom is also a life full of temptations.
> 
> (But this is a happy ending story, so don't worry)
> 
> As such, upcoming chapters may be triggering to some. Please beware the archive warnings, dears, and thank you again for reading.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Catra gets her tarot reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I'm back! Took awhile to get this one done. I dabble in tarot but I'm not THAT familiar. Getting this right took a loooot of effort so I hope it's somewhat enjoyable! Thanks for reading!

Sitting is somehow harder than standing.

Standing, she can shove her hands in her pockets or cross her arms over her chest. Sitting? It’s like she’s forgotten how to.

Her normal seated position is lounged out, but now she sits uncomfortably taut, knees together and hands clasped tightly.

If the woman notices, she doesn’t say, though. Just pulls the deck of cards out, stacks them neatly on the table, and taps them in the center three times--relaxed face and soft smile.

“Take the deck, dear.”

Catra jumps a little. She thought she’d just point and grandma would place them, but _she_ has to hold them? It puts her a little more on edge and her tail flicks back and forth.

“You’re going to pull six cards. I’m going to ask you to shuffle and then to think about something, then you’ll pull and repeat until we have what we need. Okay?”

Catra nods curtly, feeling way more exposed than she had prior to sitting.

  
  
  


Her hands are shaky, so she shuffles by pulling out small stacks and placing them on top. She doesn’t want to try folding and fuck up and fling them everywhere--that’s the last she needs right now, so she’s going to make this as simple as she can.

Her head is out of her hands, though.

“While you shuffle, be conscious of your mind. What information is it processing? Senses, thoughts, feelings? Your neurons are firing--what do they present to you? How do they transition into one another?”

She pulls one quickly; she doesn’t want to get trapped in there. Not right now.

“Shuffle again, and this time be mindful of your body. Feel your lungs fill and deflate. Feel the socks on your feet, the cool air on your skin. Feel your muscles and organs work in tandem. Once you can feel all the cogs inside you turning, pull one card.”

Her body is in _pain_.

There’s the exhaustion from the concert and the strain of her sitting position as well as the sharpness of her breaths and twitching of her ears and tail. She’s not sure if her body is being drained of blood or if it’s solidifying into ice, but Catra’s cruelly aware of how much her blood aches as it rushes through her.

She pulls a card and places it where the woman points.

“Now, consider your spirit. How connected does it feel to the world around you? What is its aura? What color is it? Is--”

Catra fumbles with the deck and a card pops out, face-up.

When she sees the swords, she can’t help but lift her head rapidly to meet the woman’s eyes, feeling way more panicked than a simple card should make her. 

“No worries--sometimes the deck chooses a more direct manner of speaking to us.”

Catra frowns.

“For the next one, I’d like you to think about your past. Doesn’t need to be anything in particular--it’s whatever comes to your mind. Memories, old friends, achievements, and feelings are all fair game.”

She sees dark alleyways and men standing behind big trash bins, shooting up. She sees dealers scowl as they count her stack of dollar bills and coins. There’s the flashing of police lights as she bolts from a bust--sight hazy while she jumps obstacles, scales buildings, and tries to lose them in the sewer system. Too many slow-motion drops of green pills falling from bottles and into her awaiting palm. Arguing with Lonnie, who was just worried about her, yet treating her like an enemy. Raking her claws over Rogelio’s scales as he rips a full baggie from her hands and flushes them down the toilet. Snapping at Kyle when he doesn’t knock on the door and she’s in the middle of--

Another card falls out and her tail lashes in frustration.

“All is well. Take some time to think about the present--”

Her mind cries out as a thousand individual voices, screaming, _wailing_ hard enough to make her skull vibrate.

She’s not even sure if and when the woman stopped speaking when she throws a card onto the table.

The grandma catches it, gently sliding it to its spot under the body card.

“Future. What does that word mean to you? What do you expect from it? What do you hope for it?”

Catra’s heart clenches with want while bleeding out of a reopened wound. She flips the deck sideways, taking the card from the bottom and putting it on the table.

“In front of you are mind--”

The grandma flips the first card.

_More swords_. It makes her skin crawl.

“--body--”

A cloaked man staring at the ground where five cups lay.

“--spirit--”

The sword card that fell out with the girl on it.

“--past, present and future.”

Swords. _More_ swords. And--

A chill ricochets down her spine.

“She’s going to die?!” The granddaughter yells, abruptly standing and slamming her hands on the table.

“No, no,” the woman chuckles, wrinkles by her mouth creasing. “The card of Death is not always literal and does not always mean someone dying. Context is key, but we’ll get to it; I promise.”

Catra swallows and nods her head, trying to force herself to be comforted by that statement.

_Fake it till you make it._

“You have been hurt deeply, my dear,” her voice quietens, ignoring the girl’s comment. “Examine the picture--three swords pierce through the heart, revealing the heartache you feel. You’ve been wounded, but it wasn’t the action itself that hurt you.”

Catra furrows her brows, trying not to cry.

“It’s the wreckage it left behind. The shattering aftermath that you sit in that feels like an unending nightmare.”

Grandma moves her hand, resting it above the “body” card.

“Your heartache is forefront, but just behind it is grief. Yet this pain is different than the Three of Swords. The cups,” she says, lifting the card and bringing it closer for Catra to see. “--are not in the act of falling. Rather, they _have fallen_. The act has previously occurred, and the man stands there instead of picking them up. He cannot reach for them, for he has not processed the hurt yet and is unable to move on is his current state.”

She replaces the card with sword-girl and Catra brings a hand to her mouth, biting at her nails.

“The Daughter of Swords stands in his way. She’s cripplingly self-critical, seeking a perfection she does not even expect of others. She’s obsessive of her mistakes and flaws, anxious, and,” she says, lifting a hand to bring Catra’s away from her mouth. “--she bites her nails.”

Catra gulps, ashamed.

“She undermines our achievements and happiness, making us second-guess ourselves in order to maintain control and save us from disappointment. Therefore, she is also _fear_. But she’s not without potential. When balanced, she is sweet, loyal, and sharper than a tack. She’s honest and observant, and in the right conditions, can save you from disaster. Left unchecked, she will lead you to it.”

She places the card down and points to the “past” card.

“It doesn’t surprise me to see her mother here. The fear the daughter feels may very well be related to the Mother of Swords. In the past, you’ve been burned--and badly. You refused to let it happen again and shut down your heart for the sake of protecting it. Thus, the mother takes her daughter’s work one step further--while the child can be a killjoy, the mother is an outright bitch.”

“Grandma!” The girl gasps. “You can’t just call _the_ Catra a,” pause, “ _b-i-t-c-h_ ,” she spells.

“It’s okay,” Catra’s voice comes out hoarse. _I deserve it._

The woman shakes her head. “You are not a bitch, dear. That’s not what I mean. What I mean is that hurt people _hurt_ people. Your self-preservation caused you to spread the pain you felt to keep others away. You justified this behavior, even celebrated when you distanced yourself from people because you felt you _succeeded_ , though not truly. Behind those walls was a girl who was suffering--who desperately needed healing.”

She nods several times as she looks to Catra’s present. 

Catra digs her nails into her palms, eyes unable to tear away from the falling, screaming people and the lightning that streaks behind them.

“The Tower. It’s a terror to look at for most. On the surface, it represents violence, chaos, and destruction, which isn’t wrong,” the woman says with a shrug of her shoulders.

Catra has to stop herself from kneading her brows in exasperation. 

“But it isn’t the full story,” she adds. “Yes, The Tower is sudden and ruthless. It’s much like a forest fire. It can engulf your home and burn others, even you. But the people here, falling?” Grandma asks, sliding it closer to Catra. “Who says they are _you_?”

Her ears flatten on her head. _What?_

“They are not, for you are _the tower itself_. These people are not you; they are your pain, your burdens, your obstacles. The process looks borderline cataclysmic, but in reality it’s just a purge.”

“Forest fires are destructive, too,” she continues. “They can bring great loss and spread for miles. But the fire itself?” 

Old, grey eyes pierce through her mismatched ones.

“It’s not intentionally malicious. The fire’s path is dismantling, but after the flames have died, the earth heals itself. It removes imperfections and fertilizes the soil there, allowing for something new to grow again and grow _better_ than before. You,” she says, grabbing Catra’s hand. “--are here. And it’s shitty. No one would dare say it isn’t. But it is not the last card of the major arcana. There are more ahead of it--all on the other side of this turmoil.”

She slides the death card next to it. “And while the ruin can mean the death of many things, they’re not necessarily good, for the tower can mean the death of what holds you back from _moving on_.”

Catra squeezes the woman’s hand, gaze fixed on the death card, but her brows tighten as the seconds pass.

_The Tower isn’t bad and neither is Death? But it could be? The swords are bad, so does that mean these are bad?_

She knows she’s in for a shitshow, but this just makes her more confused, and maybe she’s putting too much faith in this but she doesn’t have much else at the moment. No god, no saint, no fairy godmother, no hero--just Catra to either crumble or pull herself up by her bootstraps. 

But when does The Tower end?

The grandaughter huffs in amusement. “So Death _isn’t_ bad? Well, I guess it’s not the _Devil_ , sooo.”

Grandma ruffles her hair with her free hand before bringing it forward and gently lifting Catra’s chin.

“Your thoughts are loud. What’s troubling you?”

Catra sighs a little too dramatically for her act and forces herself to rein it in before she speaks.

“I understand the reading and I don’t think it’s wrong. I just--it just doesn’t--what do I--”

“How do you move on from here?”

Her shoulders slump and her ears droop. “Yeah.”

The woman hums, offering her a soft smile. “Would you have time for one more reading?”

She whips out her phone and sends Scorpia a _hey, gonna need another half hour to talk to some suits. Let me know when you guys are ready_ , before tossing the device aside and nodding.

Grandma brings the cards together, shuffling them again before tapping the center of the neatened deck three times.

“Take the deck and shuffle them. We’ll do the same process as last time, just slightly different. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright. Once again, think of your past--and be open. Don’t box yourself into single topics and series of events, but spread your search wider. Good memories, bad memories, maybe even some that are in-between. Open yourself to your life, for every part has brought you forward and to this moment.”

_Deep breath in--and out._

She sees the flickering of light on blurry trees as her train car zooms by. She sees Adora, maybe eight, holding out a baby tooth that finally fell free after Catra tackled her to the floor and a big hole at the front of her wide, grinning mouth. There’s Weaver, standing above her and beating her, and her body aches in all the same places. Her high school diploma, full of creases after being bent in the mail--likely intentional given how much her principal hated her--hanging on the wall next to her degree from UCLA. Her salutatorian stole hangs over it as well as her honors medallion, and though she can’t see it, she knows each of her honor roll certificates are shoved in the back of the frame, contrasting drastically to the diploma on its left. And then there’s her most recent holiday with her family--the guys, Scorpia, Entrapta, Kadroh, and Hordak, all sipping shitty eggnog and making fun of eachother, but there’s also her first big girl show--thousands of fans who aren’t here to see _them_ , but will be in the future. Still, there’s locking herself in the bathroom to swap cash with a dealer she snuck backstage clearance to, hospital beds, trips to Adora’s unofficial grave--their tree in Detroit--a wet, barely conscious, and sobbing Kyle, and--

A card flies out as she jumbles the shuffle and her heart stops, causing her to immediately make eye contact with the young girl and remember the words she’d only said a minute ago.

“Oh shi--”

“Sh,” grandma shushes, putting a finger to her lips while her young eyes stretch wide.

“Please, Catra--ignore her. There are no truly good or evil cards in tarot, and you can at least take comfort that this is your _past_ , not present. Now,” she says, wasting no time. “Present. How--”

_How?_

_Him_. Some merciless God. Maybe fate, as cruel as that is.

_What?_

She laughs in her mind.

Buried skeletons, unchecked baggage, guilt, _shame_ , weakness, fear, _panic_.

_No panicking, no panicking, breathe, breathe Catra!_

She slams a card onto the table.

“Future--”

A casket. A funeral.

_Fuck that_.

A show overseas. Punching that blue _fuck_ in the face. Waking up to the sun shining in her eyes, wrapped around a body that, too, looks like the star.

Maybe another stint in rehab. 

Catra gulps.

_Maybe another relapse_.

She places the card.

“Think action, a pathway full of--”

Crying. _Lots_ of crying, probably.

Labor--down in the dirt type of shit. Maybe while tired and starved, but yet unbowing.

_Unbowing._

_Perseverance._

She does not want to give in to her demons; she wants to give way to angels instead.

And, of course, several cards fall out, but the woman reassures her that it’s perfectly fine.

“Influences--”

A blue bastard.

Temptations. 

Support--love.

She accidentally pulls two.

“Hopes--fears--”

_God, too many._

She wants that golden daydream for her future. Wants to believe she deserves it. Fears that she will not and will never have it. 

Catra pulls one and another falls out.

“Now,” grandma stops her, pausing for a moment to observe the Magicat. “After all is said and done, where will that leave you?”

Catra, too, pauses but she doesn’t think. In fact, no thoughts run through her head at all. She just feels something in her chest, spreads the deck wide across the table, and picks a card on the left with a nicked corner and fading colors. 

“In front of you are the pieces of the puzzle that is your problem. There’s your past,”

Catra holds her breath.

“--your present--”

More swords. _Again._

“--future--”

She quirks an eyebrow. _Birds?_

“--what you should do--”

A man in a crown. A man on a horse. A man who can’t hold onto his endless supply of fucking _swords_. An infinity symbol? 

_Better not be an infinite supply of_ men _, pass._

“--external influences--”

A man and a woman holding a cup. A dial?

She’s getting sick of trying to decipher the cards before the woman does for her.

“--hopes, fears--

_Yay, more cups. But they aren’t swords, so._

“--and the final outcome.”

_An angel playing the clarinet for nudists?_

“Is this supposed to make sense to normal people?”

Grandma laughs. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but no one at this table is normal.”

Kiddo shouts out a “hey!”

Catra just shrugs. “Fair.”

The woman slides her original past card next to the new one and Catra flinches.

“Relax. It’s not a surprise to see The Devil appear here. He and the Mother of Swords have a lot in common. While the mother built walls to protect herself, cancer spread in her fortress. What once was curable, perhaps with some effort, has become a large network of tumors wrapped around her vital organs. They are stubborn and deeply rooted and not even a skilled surgeon could easily remove them.”

_Is this supposed to make me feel better about the card?_

“The Devil befriends us to _fool_ us. A snarling monster is clearly a threat, but them? They are abusive and toxic but also an _addiction_.”

Catra bites into her cheek so hard that copper immediately spills onto her tongue. She does not look up from the table.

“They make us feel protected, understood, and comforted. They are so seductive that it’s hard to say no, especially when we’d rather cave in for that immediate satisfaction. But The Devil is a false need, and perhaps that’s the true purpose of the card--to reveal to us when an excess becomes darkness, chains, _cancer_ , and needs the purge--” she starts, gliding her old present card forward. “--that The Tower begs for.”

Grandma takes her hand again, rubbing her thumb gently over her thin, soft fur as she considers her new present card--a girl in bed, face in her hands as moonlight gleams over nine swords hanging beside her on the wall. 

“Sweetheart, would you mind getting me some water? I’m feeling quite parched.”

“Okay! I remember where the water cooler is, don’t worry! I’ve only had, like, four cups, which, now that I think about it, I _really_ have to pee so I’m gonna do that while I’m over there! I’ll wash my hands though so don’t worry!”

The old woman chuckles, lifting her head to watch the child go before, inevitably, as Catra sits anxiously-- _there’s a reason she sent her away_ \--she turns back to the Puma. 

“It’s not my place to ask, and I fear pushing you further than I have the right to, but--”

Old wrinkled hands cup hers delicately. 

“If the Nine of Swords were to indicate a single thing, it would quite easily be a panic attack.”

Catra’s jaw clamps down harshly as her entire body tenses.

The woman searches her eyes and seems to find the fear she’s been hiding without much effort.

“Again, it’s not my place to prod--you have people much closer who should be privy to this information, unlike me, but the card indicates another layer to the chaos The Tower had previously shown. Whatever troubles you has put you in distress and it is not a pleasant experience. It’s intense, yes?”

Catra nods, feeling more blood spill out onto her tongue as her whole body locks down.

“But please know that while the Nine of Swords _sucks_ , as whatever you’re going through does, it’s not a permanent state. Rather, it’s a _detox_. Painful, yes, and awful, but like throwing up, once it’s over, you’ll feel _better_ , so don’t be discouraged while you expel whatever this is--we do not throw-up forever,” she says, sliding forward Death.

“And really,” grandma says, gripping her hand. “The death of this doesn’t _just_ bring you to a better place.”

Catra’s natural instincts are kicking in and while flight isn’t an option while the woman has her kind hold on her, sarcasm _is._

“It brings me to an angel’s clarinet recital at a nude beach in France?”

She laughs. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Right. It brings me birds, instead.”

The woman shakes her head. “No, swans.”

“They’re still birds.”

“She’s right grandma,” kiddo butts in, back in record time with a cup of water. “Swans _are_ birds.”

“ _Yes_ ,” the woman says, somehow still patient. “But swans aren’t _just_ birds.”

Kiddo plops down while her grandma takes a sip, staring for a few seconds at the birds in question before her eyes go dramatically wide and she gesticulates with the same ferocity as her shouting voice.

“Are you seeing someone?! I keep tabs on _every_ fan page and subreddit and even have my phone set-up to give me notifications everytime your name is mentioned on the web and I’ve seen nothing! _Nothing_ ! Who is it? Is she pretty? Oh my god, are you even _dating_ yet?!”

Catra can’t tell if she’s gone white in shock or red in embarrassment. 

The old woman nearly chokes on her water. 

“I’d hoped my daughter would teach you good social tact but _apparently_ that’s something we’re going to have to work on.”

“Tact _shmact_ , this is incredible!”

“You’re telling me,” Catra mumbles.

“Please simmer down,” she chastises and the kid puffs up her cheeks. “As obviously pointed out, The Lovers card has appeared in your future.”

“Cool.”

Catra cringes inwardly. _Really?_ _Cool?_

“Yes, very,” she says, sighing amusedly. “It’s something to work for, right?”

The comment startles Catra.

Grandkid is off rambling again, but she’s not paying attention. Her grandma is making eye contact, though, smiling while the Magicat thinks. 

Or, well--she _doesn’t_ think, really, but…

That’d sure be nice, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps a little belatedly, she responds. “Yeah. It is.”

“Then I get the feeling that I’m not needed to explain the card.” 

Sure, she doesn’t _actually_ wink, but it’s for sure the most wink of a winkless wink Catra’s ever seen.

And it just figures that even while her mind, body, and spirit are a chaotic shitshow, her cheeks _still_ have the audacity to heat up.

“So how do you resolve your problem? Well,” she chuckles, “the arcana shows that you have a lot at your disposal. The Hierophant, for instance,” she says, sliding the man in the crown forward. “A guide, a mentor, a teacher--someone, or _someones,_ maybe even a place or an object to receive guidance, wisdom, or a sense of connection from.”

_Sounds like Abuelita_ , but she’s not on tour with her; she’s in Chicago. 

_It could be an object? Like what, a rock?_

Catra frowns. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No worries--you needn’t seek it out. Just be open, and the Hierophant will find you.”

Catra bites into her lips to prevent herself from getting grouchy. The old woman’s made sense so far, so she shouldn’t overthink it. Probably. Maybe. _Fuck_.

She looks at the other cards and her brow creases, unintentionally bringing forward a migraine that she’s been pushing back for the last hour. 

_There’s so much to fucking do._ How’s she supposed to manage all this?

“Is this getting overwhelming?”

She sputters as a scoff bursts from her mouth. “Why can’t I just--” she stops for a moment to throw her hands up in the air while she thinks “--go into the woods and find some magical thing and, I dunno, _tadah_ ? How am I supposed to do all this shi--” _shit, child present_ , but her brain fumbles for a quick substitute. 

“Shiitake mushrooms. That’s what mom says.”

Catra nods, snorting before drawing her arms upward and resting her chin in one hand while the other kneads at her temple. 

“Let’s simplify this, then,” grandma says, pulling out a pocket notebook and pen and writing _what to do_ at the top of the page.

“The Hierophant is a teacher of sorts--” She writes down _teacher._ “--and it can be one or many persons, a place, or even a thing.”

“Noun, got it,” Catra interrupts.

Grandma smiles at her, writing _noun_ in parentheses, and drawing an arrow to _wisdom, new perspective_.

She slides forward clumsy sword man. “The Five of Swords says--”

“Ooh! I got this! It’s check yourself before you wreck yourself!” Kiddo interrupts with a proud grin.

Catra lifts her head from her hand to nod. “Makes sense.”

Grandma smiles at the kid before writing it down. “You’re being too hard on yourself, and it’s borderline cruel. Give _yourself_ some mercy in this time.”

Catra nods again.

“The Two of Pentacles is a card of balance. It appears to indicate imbalance in one’s life. Are you making the effort to do things for you? Spend time with loved ones? Or is all of your time dedicated to work?”

The question literally makes Catra sit back in her seat. 

She hangs out with the guys regularly--she always does--but when was the last time she did something for _herself_ ? Something _she_ wanted to do? _Fuck_ , she doesn’t even ever pick the _movies_ they watch.

Wait.

_Rehab._

Rehab was the last thing she did for herself, but that wasn’t even entirely for her either--it was for her family, friends, and fans, too.

She gulps, nodding once more.

“Find this balance. No one is built to work 24/7, nor should they be. You can find fulfillment in your personal life, too, as well as the motivation and inspiration to keep moving forward. Without balance, you will burn out.”

She moves forward the man on the horse.

“The Six of Wands. This is a card to strive for, which is why it has appeared for you. It wants you to go high when others go low. Don’t take the easy way out; use your strength and you will end up on the other side, albeit with scratches, but proud of the work you did.”

“Okay,” Catra says, clacking her claws on the table as she thinks. “Listen to the wisdom of someone or _-s_ or _things_ or whatever, be merciful to myself, find balance, and take the high road.”

“Perfect,” the woman smiles to her.

“Okay,” Catra repeats, migraine subsiding slightly and she releases some tension. “Okay, what’s left?”

“Only a few more. Stay with me, alright?”

Catra nods, giving her her undivided attention.

“You have had many tough cards in your readings. There’s an ongoing battle ahead, as you know, but that doesn’t mean this problem and the strife you must face are the only things that will impact the situation. Here, we see the Wheel of Fortune and Two of Cups as external influences.”

She taps the wheel. “The Wheel of Fortune might sound game-showy, but it’s not always fun and it’s hardly as calm as a ferris wheel. Rather, it’s turbulent and perhaps a little dramatic.” She pauses to make eye-contact. “But it’s _good_. It’s here to make you aware of your repeated patterns and give you the chance to break them down. They’ve gone under your nose for too long and it’s time to deal with them. It may bring forward trauma, but it’s trauma that’s been hidden and is past due. It’s time now.”

“The Two of Cups is a companion card to The Lovers.”

Catra does _not_ blush at the reminder of the card, but kiddo _does_ lean in, eyes as wide-open as her ears are, ready for the oncoming words. 

“Dating is a challenge and no one is perfect. Therefore, there is no perfect timing for love, though you must still be honest with your readiness as well as your feelings. But Catra?”

Catra clenches her hands tightly on top of her thighs, claws digging into her palms. “Yes?”

“The card isn’t here to bog you down with details--it’s here to give you reassurance. Catra, it’s _right_.”

Tears well up so quickly that she almost misses them before they fall, but she catches them with her arm in time. 

_It’s right?_

Catra snorts, failing not to shyly look into her lap wearing one of those damn Hallmark smiles--all soft and knowing and _bashful_. Catra is _not_ fucking _bashful_ , but Adora’s just…

_It’s always been right, hasn’t it?_

Her heart’s probably in some desperate state after tonight, and maybe she’d normally be making fun of herself for feeling so much _hope_ and _warmth_ cuz of a fricken _tarot card_ after feeling so fucking _destroyed_ earlier but, well, she’s gotta be _merciful_ now and she’s too fucking tired to get into it anyway.

“Hopes and fears. The Eight of Cups--you fear losing her, whoever she is. That that awful breakup will come and ruin everything.”

Her ears flick backward and she can feel her heart gently cradle her delicate feelings.

“Ace of Cups--you want _self-healing_. All of those swords have been wounding, and you want those to scar over so you can be _happy_. Perhaps with whoever,” she taps The Lovers card, “this is?”

Catra nods slightly. “And--” she croaks out, voice rough and embarrassing. “For me, too.”

“Well,” grandma says, eyes sparkling with something Catra doesn’t recognize from an elder. “It’s normal to be afraid. You’re not wrong to feel that way, just like it isn’t wrong to feel hopeful.”

Finally, the woman slides forward the last card--the clarinet nudists card, but she can’t even open her mouth to make a half-hearted joke.

“Perhaps Judgement doesn’t look like an answer to the questions you may have--even about the reading as a whole--but the card means so much more than face value.”

“Thank God,” she mumbles, unable to resist comment despite the fight with her vocal chords. 

“There are 21 cards in the Major Arcana, and Judgement is the 20th--and for good reason. It is our last task before The World, where we reach our true purpose. It’s probably the hardest one you’ll have to complete.”

Catra waits quietly, ears having shifted to the side though still drooped.

“Forgiveness--one so radical in nature, so vast in scope that we see the humanity in everyone--see _ourselves_ in everyone. It’s taking the mercy for yourself from the Five of Swords and extending it to others, even those who have hurt you. You forgive them--not to absolve them of their crimes, but to leave their retribution to Justice while you let go of the hurt and the hatred to move forward. This,” she says, “is your final outcome. All the sweat, tears, and heartache--as taxing as it will be--lead to a light at the end of the tunnel, and that light is peace. And please--”

For a final time, wrinkled hands cup hers with care. “You deserve that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, folks! Sorry for the wait. It's been a helluva month, from the presidential election in the states to confirmed mass effect remaster (!!) to midlife crises to quarantine to aishdvbwebv. Send good vibes lol I'm so tired. Burnout is who I am rn but not for this story ig so don't worry!! I'm perpetually working on this, promise :) Thanks so much to those who've stuck with me so long and to any new readers joining this hella long ride!! It's gonna get there, promise x2.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adora and co. get a much needed break.
> 
> Beach part 1.

“Seriously, it’s--like--no big deal. My dad doesn’t care,” Mermista says, dragging black nail polish smoothly across her index finger. “It used to be one of our vacation homes but it’s been an airbnb for a few years now. Nobody’s even renting it out for the next few days so it’s totally fine.”

“ _A break from the road would be nice,_ ” Rogelio concedes, arm around a fidgeting Kyle.

Honestly, Adora doesn’t understand the hesitation. Mermista’s family owns it, it’s a private home with a _private beach_ on the coast, it’s got a bedroom for basically everyone, and Salinas is a stone’s throw from their next venues. Not to mention that everyone’s _exhausted_ and this is their first chance at a break since the start of the tour. It’d be _maybe_ three days, and even if they just end up sleeping, they’d be doing it in an actual _house_ and not on a perpetually moving vehicle that’s seriously weird to sleep in when it’s stopped--like reverse car sickness or something. 

She doesn’t open her mouth, though. It’s not her place to make decisions for other people, though as her eyes roam over Catra, she wishes it were that simple.

The Magicat has been especially tired for the last week or so. Adora can only imagine what it’s like fronting such an in-demand band, performing an intense show for days at a time, and immediately getting back on the road. They’ve swept through the midwest and are wrapping up the west coast, so _duh_ the Puma’s going to be spent. 

She’s been sleeping a lot more lately, but Adora doesn’t think the girl’s actually gotten much rest and she’s back and forth on her worry for Catra. She looks like roadkill (well, the hottest roadkill Adora’s even seen) but she’s still making the effort to take care of herself--even asking for things when she needs them after their Portland show conversation. 

  
  
  


Adora had just finished her livestreamed interview with DT. Catra had gone back to the bus right after the show since she volunteered to take the first driving shift, and, like, Adora wanted to tell her _no_ because _she_ of all people needed to rest after a concert, but Catra isn’t the only one with needs--she has bandmates and crew who work their asses off, too, and they all share this burden--so she let it go. 

But that doesn’t mean she didn’t immediately go to the bus after the interview to make sure she was actually up for it. 

And really, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting. Catra had been restless, so it would be too much to hope she was passed out upstairs, though maybe some type of shut-eye would be more reasonable. To climb up the ladder and see her standing in the middle of the room, towel around her neck with her fur damp from a fresh shower and staring at nothing like she’d literally been put on pause? _Not_ expected. 

“Hey,” she said, carefully approaching the frozen Magicat, _everything okay?_ implied in the cautious hand she gently set on her arm.

Catra closed her eyes and sighed before opening them again and shrugging, still not looking at her.

Adora slowly moved around her, putting herself in front of her in hopes that she’d look up.

When she did, Adora realized that she’d been wearing concealer to cover the darkness of the bags under her eyes, which were red and not fully cracked open.

“Jesus, Catra, you look like shit.”

Internally, she berated herself for her terrible choice of words. 

Catra, for her part, just snorted and just shook her head slightly. “I feel kinda like shit to be honest.”

She’s glad to hear the admission in a way--Adora would rather not waste time trying to convince her that she wasn’t okay.

“Do you want to try some sleeping pills or something?”

Internally, she berated herself harder. 

_Stupid, she won’t take pills!_

Catra flinched and Adora did in response, too.

The Puma noticed and put a hand over the one Adora had on her arm. 

“It’s okay. I’m fine--just sensitive.” 

Adora nodded but it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Seriously, relax. I know what you mean. I haven’t been sleeping well and you just wanna help, though I don’t think there’s much you can do,” she sighed. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

Adora didn’t say anything, waiting patiently for the other to elaborate while she rubbed her thumb over the thin fur of her arm.

“It’s been two months.”

At first, she didn’t know what she meant-- _two months since what?_ But it didn’t take her too long to figure it out.

She means two months _clean_.

“I’m proud of you,” Adora whispered, afraid of overwhelming her already booked head.

Catra just nodded, and she couldn’t tell if she made her feel better or _worse._

She swallowed before opening her mouth again, voice still soft. “I know it’s hard. I don’t know what it’s _like_ but I get that it _sucks_ . Just--” she pauses, lifting Catra’s chin to make eye-contact. “Just know that if you need anything--literally _anything_ \--I’m here, okay? Even if it’s bad, I’m going to be there for you. I _promise_ , Catra.”

Catra bit into her lip to keep them from quivering and her ears flattened against her head while her eyes watered. After a moment, she nodded, blinking away the liquid.

“Is there anything I can do for you right now?” 

The words coming from Adora’s mouth were so soft they were barely a whisper, but Catra heard her.

“Can--” she paused, clearing her scratchy voice. “Can I have a hug?”

Adora smiled, eyes watering slightly, too. “Of course.”

After a moment, there was a noticeable difference in the Magicat. She started off stiff and taut but relaxed more as the seconds passed, literally loosening Adora’s grip as she eased her head further onto her chest. It made Adora smile again, heart just _bleeding_ with affection and empathy for her. 

When the Puma had calmed, Adora spoke again, joking into her ear. “There’s no way I’m letting you drive after this.”

Catra snorted. “What, are _you_ gonna offer to drive instead?”

“Maybe.”

“Adora,” the girl laughed. “Have you ever driven a bus or literally anything this huge before?”

Adora did _not_ pout at that realization and the Magicat did not pull back, see her pouting, and laugh in her face.

“Thought so.”

Adora sighed, conceding. “Can I at least keep you company?”

Catra’s smirk eased into something lighter. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  
  
  


The memory is a bitter pang, but it also brings forward pride at Catra’s willingness to accept help.

Still, there’s something holding Adora back in this moment. 

Something in the way that Rogelio and Lonnie are looking at Kyle and Catra, not just asking for their opinions but something else. Not just “can we do this” but “are you _okay_ with this?” Like they need _permission_ , and that’s not quite the word but it’s in the ballpark as the band and crew look to them as if what the two say is the deciding factor--not their own personal feelings--though Adora can’t pinpoint why. 

Catra’s biting the inside of her cheek, making eye contact with Kyle and having a silent conversation. 

“Some time off the bus _would_ be nice,” he admits, searching her face for a response.

She nods without looking away. “If you’re fine with it, I’m fine with it.”

“So that’s a yes?” Mermista asks, blowing on her nails. 

“Yeah,” Catra confirms, and The Horde make a collective sigh before many of them start smiling. 

Scorpia in particular is exciting rather quickly, eyes sparkling as she looks to Mermista. “Do you have surfboards?”

She snorts, finally looking away from her work. “It’s _Cali_. Of course we have surfboards.”

Scorpia dances back and forth on her feet, clicking her pincers open and closed rapidly. 

“Oh my gosh, yes! Perfuma, we _have_ to catch some waves. Wow, this is gonna be so much fun!”

Perfuma immediately blushes and Adora--and probably everyone else, to be honest--smirks.

“Y-yeah! That’d be lovely--splendid! Great.” 

Catra cackles, breaking the gloomy spell.

“Useless,” she cries, holding her stomach.

Scorpia laughs too, though it’s clear she has no idea why they’re laughing--just happy to join in the joy--and Perfuma flushes brighter than the rising sun behind them. 

“Anyway, we can get there by this afternoon probably if we go now. I’ll call my dad.”

Adora bids adieu to Bow and Glimmer before jogging to catch up with Catra so she can joke about Scorpia and Perfuma with her. 

  
  


“I gave him one liberal and one fascist card! He had a choice but chose red!” 

Kyle balks, nearly knocking over the _president_ nameplate in front of him. 

“No!” He squeals, frustration palpable. “Kadroh gave me two fascist cards--I-I swear!”

Adora covers her giggling the best that she can but her shoulders are shaking so much that it's a futile effort.

They’ve been playing Secret Hitler for the last couple hours and Kyle’s been a fascist five turns in a row. Adora’s had equal luck--twice as liberal and three as a fascist--and she’s done pretty okay on both sides, winning once on both teams. Kyle, though, has been killed each round because he’s been so suspicious.

Mostly because he can’t lie worth a shit, though.

At first he does okay--his lying isn’t _bad_ bad because he’s at least consistently flustered. He gets caught up in the strategy bit, though, and has continually made mistakes that either throw up a red flag, thus being killed off, or result in the liberals winning. 

Now? No different.

Except that the stakes are _really_ high.

Lucky for Kyle then that he’s got two _really_ good allies.

At the beginning of the game, they all checked their envelopes to see if they were liberal, fascist, or Hitler. Adora’s card was red, so she eagerly waited to be told for fascists to open their eyes to identify each other, and _wow_ , how glad was she when she locked sights on the mismatched eyes of her dreams. Annnd how horrified she was when Hitler was told to raise their hand so the fascists knew who it was and it was _Kyle_.

They either had to _somehow_ keep the heat off of him or enact enough fascist policies to steal the win. 

So far, though, there’s only one red policy on the board and _three_ blue and Kyle’s already been suspected, though at least not as Hitler. 

He looks close to fizzling out when he passes Catra the president nameplate. She’s seated on his left with an arm flung over his shoulders, smoothing the ruffled hair he messes up when he angrily cards his fingers through it. She gently flicks his hands away, making him keep them in his lap and preventing him from “messing up the slick-ass comb over” that she fixed for him earlier. 

With her left hand, she places the nameplate in front of her and scans the circle for her chancellor nominee. 

Her eyes pause on Adora’s blue ones, but she ends up tossing _chancellor_ to Lonnie, who gives her a confident grin.

“3, 2, 1!”

They each pull out either a _nein_ or _ja_ card, and the vote passes with Scorpia and Kadroh as the only dissenters. 

“Sorry!” Scorpia cries eyes, pouting as Lonnie gives her a _what the hell?_ look.

“I haven’t used _nein_ yet and I just really wanted to!” 

Catra snorts, and sure--it might be subtle to some, but Adora _knows_ she’s making a show of it when the Magicat narrows her eyes, staring down the scorpion-hybrid before fixing Kadroh with the same look.

Lonnie’s been elected, though, so she pulls three policies from the deck. She looks at her options and sighs in disappointment, handing Catra two.

A red card goes down on the table, and Kadroh immediately points fingers.

“Fascists! So it’s you two and Kyle.”

Catra shakes her head no and Lonnie sighs again. “I literally didn’t have an option.”

Catra nods in agreeance. “This _does_ mean that I can view someone’s membership card, though.”

Kyle perks up next to her, excited to see who she picks. “Are you gonna view Lonnie’s?”

The Puma shakes her head again, scratching his scalp with her gently extended claws. “No. I trust her. She’s no fascist.”

Lonnie’s chest puffs up as she crosses her arms, sticking her tongue out at Kadroh. 

“Scorpia,” Catra says, reaching toward the white-haired girl who jumps before placing her envelope in the waiting hand.

Catra looks inside and widens her eyes slightly--an _act_ \--before handing it back over. 

When she doesn’t move to say anything, Scorpia squirms in her spot. “Are you going to clear me?”

Catra ignores her, fixing Lonnie with a serious stare. “It’s exactly what I thought.”

Lonnie’s eyebrows go up and she actually _scowls_ at Scorpia and Kadroh.

That doesn’t put Kyle in the clear, though, and he’s looking far too suspicious for Adora’s taste.

_Catra’s not the only one who can act_.

Adora clears her throat, painting her face with a confused expression. “Wait, so was Kadroh lying about Kyle, then?”

Kyle looks sheepish, but Entrapta begins to rattle out loud while Scorpia and Kadroh sputter.

“It’s possible that he lied in order to make himself appear more trustworthy.”

“Slander!”

“Oh gosh, I’m a liberal; I promise-- _nein_ is just so fun! And I think my pincers are going to clip my _ja_ card in half if I pick it up anymore.”

Adora purposefully scrunches up her brows before taking _president_ and considering the next _chancellor_.

_Lonnie and Catra are paired, and so are Scorpia and Kadroh now. Entrapta’s a neutral option and Kyle’s still in the orange, so what’s the best move to get him in the green?_

She slides _chancellor_ across the table. “I’m going to trust you.”

“Thank you, Adora,” Kadroh huffs. “Allow me to prove my innocence.”

Except that _a lot_ of blue cards are already on the board or in the discard pile, so Adora’s crossing her fingers for two possibilities. Either way, she can bluff as long as there’s one red card.

Catra is still feigning suspicion but she nods to Lonnie and they vote _ja_ , approving Kadroh as the next chancellor. 

When he draws and “oh my” escapes his frowning lips, Adora has to pinch herself to keep from smiling.

Then there’s two cards in her hand--both red--and she intentionally makes eye contact with him for a prolonged period of time before placing the fascist policy for everyone to see.

Catra bursts before either of them can open their mouths. “I _knew_ it,” she spits, splitting her lips into a cocky smirk that leaves her canines bared. “Adora is Hitler.”

_What?!_

Now Adora is _actually_ confused.

“No! No, he literally gave me two red cards!”

“I did,” Kadroh admits, jumping in to defend her. “I pulled all red.”

“Come on--do the math here,” she says, throwing a hand in the air. “Kadroh frames Kyle, then Scorpia votes _nein_ against Lonnie, and now Adora’s placing a fascist policy on the board. They’re getting sloppy and _desperate_.”

Entrapta rambles while Adora sits in shock.

_Catra, what the fuck? We’re fucking teammates!_

When the Magicat finally meets her eyes, her face doesn’t change, but Adora _does_ get a kick in the shin.

Ever so slightly, one of Catra’s brows raise while her tail ghosts over the hand Adora has under the table. 

_Oh._

Because now Kadroh, Scorpia, and Adora are in the red, and Kyle’s in the yellow if not the green. 

Inwardly, she smirks too. _Genius._

But another fascist policy on the board while Adora’s president means that now she gets to pick the next president. If she chooses any of the liberals, there’s a heightened chance of all blue options--especially now that the discard pile has been shuffled. Choosing Kadroh or Scorpia would likely mean a chancellor nomination that’s _not_ Catra or Kyle, so it’d probably mean a failed vote, which gets them closer to having to pull from the top of the stack and enacting whatever policy is there or getting closer to a liberal policy victory. It’s a lot of chance, and Adora doesn’t like it. However, if she chooses Catra, who’s on her right, then that means _president_ is going to shift back to herself in the round after…

“I swear I’m not Hitler and I’m gonna prove it,” she says, giving the nameplate to Catra. 

Catra snorts. “This doesn’t prove anything. Entrapta.” She passes her _chancellor_.

Entrapta’s neutral between the two groups, so she easily gets voted in.

A red card goes down on the table, and Entrapta gasps.

“But I gave you a choice.”

“I know.”

Adora nearly pulls her hair out but internally tries to give Catra the benefit of the doubt. 

_Where’s she going with this?_

“But now I get to kill one of you.” 

Lonnie grins, giving her a high five and thinking that this decision is in _their_ favor.

“Kadroh and Scorpia are _obviously_ fascists, but I’m not sure about Adora. She had to have known that a red card down means I could in turn kill her. Putting herself in that situation is _ballsy_ , and I don’t think she’d risk losing a fascist majority by taking the bullet, _especially_ if she was Hitler.”

Lonnie’s biting her cheek but she nods.

“We know two of them, but the third is iffy. Entrapta, though,” Catra starts, giving her a pitying look. “--is a wildcard. For all we know, she’s been undercover this whole time. I think it’s a better risk to kill her so we know at least how most of us are going to vote: Kadroh and Scorpia will go red while Lonnie, Kyle, and I will go blue, and Adora probably will too--she’s already said that she’s going to prove herself. Sorry Entrapta, but this is the better bargain.”

“It’s okay. It’s a tactically sound decision, and no, I’m not Hitler.”

_President_ shifts to Adora again and checkmate is coming into play.

Kyle is now presumably the least biased party and fascists are in the red zone, so if Hitler gets elected chancellor…

“I think Kyle’s the safest nomination,” Adora declares, sliding him the nameplate. “Everyone else has been too _loud_ and suspicious.”

She sees the king fall in their agreeable faces before the vote even passes, and when it does, Catra and Adora yell out in sync.

“Yes!”

They high-five so hard that Adora’s hand smarts from the tips of her fingers to the bottom of her palm, but she couldn’t care less. She’d rather be reaching over Catra to give Kyle a congratulatory noogie anyway so she ignores it and does.

Everyone else sits completely dumbfounded, shocked into disbelief. 

“You _betrayed_ me,” Lonnie says, slowly shaking it off. “But that was _awesome!_ ”

She grins with them, gently reaching over to lovingly cup Kyle’s face.

He blushes down his neck but is smiling with them. 

“Finally,” he sighs happily, enduring the affectionate torture Catra and Adora shower him with.

They’re all happily chatting and eating sandwiches when Lonnie brings Rogelio a few while he’s driving and then comes back, declaring that they’re almost there. 

They split pretty soon after that, going to their respective areas to gather what they want to drag into the house with them.

Adora’s sniggering about a joke Catra just made when she notices the Magicat yawn. 

“Tired?”

Catra rolls her eyes. “ _Duh_.”

Adora crawls a few feet over to push Catra’s shoulder. “I mean _tired_ tired.”

“Kinda hope so,” she mumbles, running a hand along Melog’s spine. “Think I might try to sleep when we get there.”

Adora smiles. “That’s a good idea.”

She thought about asking if she could join, but heat rose up her neck and she choked on the words. And when they got to the house, threw their shit in their room, and gathered to see what they all wanted to do, it was too late--someone else jumped on the opportunity. 

“Can I join?” Kyle asks, looking a little nervous.

Catra rolls her eyes, but it’s out of fondness. “Sure. Melog says he wants to join, too.”

“Sweet!” He exclaims, lightening up a little. 

“So,” Sea Hawk speaks up. “Mermista told me you guys were big fans of volleyball,” he says addressing Lonnie and Rogelio. “There’s a net on the beach if you think you’re tough enough to match against me, the legendary Sea Hawk!”

Rogelio rumbles out a reptilian sound that is _definitely_ a scoff. “ _Your overconfidence will be the death of you._ ”

Mermista laughs and Sea Hawk pouts, but just a little. He only sounds slightly disheartened though. “Dibs on Adora.”

Adora perks up. “I’m playing?”

“Fine,” Lonnie says, all business. “We call Bow.”

“Huntara.”

“Netossa.”

“Smart choice,” Netossa smirks. “Net--toss--it’s all in the name. We’re going to _crush_ you.”

  
  
  


“In your fucking faces, losers!”

Mermista recoils abruptly, narrowly avoiding Glimmer’s spiked ball that comes cometing down with enough force to re-kill the dinosaurs. She falls on her ass, face going from focussed to disgusted. When Adora pulls her to her feet, she immediately turns toward Sea Hawk and raises her hands in a _what the fuck?_ gesture.

Glimmer celebrates with Bow, still taunting them while he commends her. Lonnie and Netossa step forward to give her a high five while Rogelio and Tung Lashor roar in approval.

“That was so good!”

“Suck my ass, Mermista!”

Mermista groans loudly. “Huddle up!”

“You,” she says, jabbing her finger toward her boyfriend, “need to back off. You ‘showing off’ is losing us the game.”

“But--”

“No butts! You’re getting in literally everyone’s way, including the three _beefcakes_! And you literally knocked Kadroh into the dirt in the middle of an assist so you could spike it _ten yards out of bounds_!”

Sea Hawk closes his mouth, pouting with shiny eyes. “I’m sorry, dearest.”

Mermista’s face is still screwed up but her eyes soften a fraction. “‘Team Sea Hawk’ is now ‘Team _Communication_.’ Are we clear?”

Adora can’t be the only one who thinks _thank god_. 

She’s playing for fun, but standing around while Sea Hawk tries to be each position isn’t exactly a good time.

Looking around, Huntara--dubbed Beefcake #1--looks about ready to snap Sea Hawk like a glow stick. The muscular woman is easily as competitive as Glimmer and not being able to retort back via her _prowess_ is slowly making her angrier and angrier, turning her lilac-skin redder as the losses grow.

Scorpia--Beefcake #2--doesn’t really care; she could have fun in a garbage bin. Once they wrapped her pincers to prevent her from popping the balls, she improved drastically and could attack like a _titan_. With Sea Hawk ball-hogging, though, she always stepped back and rarely got to put her skill into action.

Adora--Beefcake #3--has started cutting Sea Hawk off from the ball’s path so others can get to it and as much as she loves him, it’s draining her patience. She might be a writer first but she’s _definitely_ an athlete second. She’s got strength, speed, tactics, and thinks fast on her feet. On a few occasions, she’s been able to team up with Kadroh and execute wordless plans that’ve tripped even _Lonnie_ up, but the opportunities have been far and few between.

“Sea Hawk,” she says, drawing from her remaining dregs of patience and channeling her team captain days, “it’s okay, but we work strongest as a team--not individually. Stay in your zone, alright? You can’t be everywhere at once and you _shouldn’t_ be.”

He nods, maroon hair bobbing on his head.

“Peachy,” Kadroh says, sighing before bringing forward another smile.

“Woo! Teamwork! We got this guys!” Scorpia cheers, heading back to her spot.

“Ready?” Lonnie calls over.

“Ready to lose!” 

_Does Glimmer ever stop?_

Dumb question.

Adora gives Lonnie a thumbs-up and Netossa spins the ball in her hands, walking back to serve.

When it comes, it sails over the net, descending within the streams of light from the setting sun that blind Adora, but she doesn’t go for it--she knows it’s going over her head anyway, so she waits patiently. And sure enough, Mermista comes from her spot in the back up the middle, digging her knees into the sand to bring the ball up into play. It comes in Adora’s direction, but she won’t have a good angle to spike it over.

“Got it!” She yells, turning to Scorpia on the other end of the net and shouting her name to show her intended direction.

Scorpia grins confidently, smoothly setting herself up for the assist and resulting in a kill that almost takes off Bow’s head.

He yelps, and the ball sinks into the sand on the other side.

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about!” Huntara shouts, smirk breaking across her previously disgruntled face. 

Rogelio laughs. “ _If you’re ready to actually play now, how about we start a new game?_ ”

Adora scoffs. “You’re gonna regret that.”

  
  
  


Rogelio probably _doesn’t_ regret starting over, but Glimmer and Netossa are definitely salty about it.

While the others are reveling in the competition, enjoying the sweat and strain--particularly a spectating Perfuma, who sits doe-eyed watching a certain someone--those two are _not_ happy about the closeness of the game. They basked in the shit-talking, the gap in points, and each win that came with it, but now that they’re 2-2 and neck and neck in the last set? They’re _pissed_. 

It’s actually a little funny, especially because Glimmer is _such_ a sore loser. 

Bow’s winding up for a spike, nearly springing into the air when the pink-haired girl bellows behind him.

“Eat shit, assholes!”

Bow startles so badly that he goofs the jump, ball falling onto his face and into the sand instead of over the net.

“Glimmer can you, like, chill out? You about scared my pants off!”

“She’d like that, wouldn’t she,” Kadroh says out of earshot, though Adora shoots him a questioning look. DT overhears and laughs that sweet melody of theirs, but Adora doesn’t understand what they’re catching that she isn’t. 

Glimmer sighs. “I’m sorry, Bow.”

He’s all sunshine, though, readily smiling back at her like he didn’t just about shit himself. “It’s okay!”

Huntara _ha-s_ loudly. “Sure it is, buttercup.”

And she’s not wrong--that puts them at 13 and Adora’s team at 14 _with_ the serve. It could all be over soon now--news that doesn’t go over their heads as Glimmer glares at Huntara and Netossa glares at Glimmer. 

Bow tosses the ball over the net and into Sea Hawk’s hands.

He’s not their best server but he’s next in the rotation. He can get it pretty solidly over the net, though the problem is how far _back_ he serves--perpetually teetering on the line. As long as he can make it in, they should have it. It’s their third possession in a row, everyone is geared up, and ready for anything.

Or, well, _almost_.

In a matter of seconds, it all nearly goes to shit.

Sea Hawk’s serve sails over but hits Lonnie’s fists in the middle of their court, flying up into the air as the perfect set-up for Rogelio, who’s coming in from her left to strike the ball. As he moves, he growls out, and Adora’s so focused on him that she almost misses Tung Lashor leaning back onto his haunches in the back right, hissing with his eyes locked on the ball’s exact trajectory.

A peek to her right shows Adora’s team focused on Rogelio, bodies already moving toward their right and away from the _actual_ hot zone. Adora spouts the information as fast as she can, _hoping_ that they understand. 

“Sea Hawk! Back row attack!”

The mustached man looks away from the pair in the middle as Rogelio _doesn’t_ spike the ball, but bumps it to Tung Lashor. Everyone else is already rushing in the wrong direction, but Sea Hawk readjusts, meeting the ball as it comes blazing along their left line before it hits the ground, getting a face full of sand but keeping the ball into play. 

Adora knows she’s got to act quicker than they can adjust to Sea Hawk’s readjustment, so as the ball flies up above her head, she springs into the air, winding back her arm to bring her palm crashing against the ball and booming it into the sand between Netossa’s feet and ricocheting behind her.

Immediately, Glimmer is cursing and Adora’s team is yelling.

“Fuck!”

“Hell yeah!”

Adora turns to Sea Hawk and crushes him in a hug, lifting him from his feet.

“Yes, yes, yes!”

He startles but then returns the gesture, chuckling loudly.

“And _that’s_ why we’re Team Communication, folks!”

  
  
  


Glimmer is still fuming as they approach the house door, in the middle of being consoled by Bow while the others laugh and chatter. A rematch between a few of them is set for tomorrow--for Glimmer’s pride and for fun for the others. Yet deep down, Adora knows her friend enjoyed it as much as everyone else did; she’s just stubborn. 

They’re still chattering when the first few people pile through the doorway and immediately shush everyone behind them.

“Shut up!” Hisses Glimmer quietly, definitely still affected by her anger.

Adora wrinkles her forehead and raises a brow, pushing past the stalled people to see what demands such abrupt stillness, and her heart nearly gives out.

As planned, Catra, Kyle, and Melog are napping, curled up on the couch in the living room, though silence wasn’t demanded out of respect--it was demanded out of _cuteness_.

Catra’s got her back against the cushions, head resting on Melog as he wraps around it. She’s out like a light--no hint of stirring while she purrs _and_ snores softly. 

Kyle’s curled up under her chin. His face is toward them, and he’s otherwise completely draped over the Magicat--ear to her chest and his chest on her stomach as his right hand rests on Melog, the left clutched tightly to the girl’s side. 

Adora’s not the only one who takes a picture, but she might be the only one to make it her screensaver. And how funny it is that in such a short time, these guys are on her homescreen _and_ lockscreen--the pic from the baseball game just too good to dust over in her library as well. Honestly, her heart hasn’t been this full in a long time and it’s sore. But maybe the organ’s like a muscle--torn when used but then healed and thus built more resilient to handle more intensity. 

Whatever may be--hardiness or heart attack--Adora hopes she’ll get her fill. 

And yeah, she definitely hopes ‘fill’ never happens; she wants this infinitely. 

She’s smiling to herself cheesily about it while she showers, dries, and re-dresses. It tames down as she meets Rogelio and Lonnie to decide if they should wake them or not, but comes back full-force when Rogelio lifts a sleepy Kyle into his arms and Adora takes Catra to their room to change for the evening.

The Puma wakes slightly upon lift, cracking her eyes open for a few seconds before closing them again and resting her cheek on Adora’s collarbone. She doesn’t say anything on the way and the only sound to be heard is the soft padding of Melog’s feet as he follows them to the room where Swifty’s already resting. 

Adora shuts the door behind her with her foot but pauses just beyond the threshold. 

She doesn’t want to put Catra down, just so content to have her gently in her arms.

Catra doesn’t say anything either--all hushed purrs and no words. 

It’s a stalemate with both far too satisfied to change their current situation. 

Only when Mermista knocks on the door, asking if they were okay with pizza for dinner, that the two feel slightly encouraged to move.

“Sounds good,” Catra says after clearing her throat.

Adora hums her agreeance.

When the footsteps fade, Adora walks to the edge of the bed and elects to sit down rather than release Catra just yet. She flops her back down onto the mattress without letting go and Catra follows her down, sighing longly. 

“Sleep well?” She murmurs. 

It’s Catra’s turn to hum yes.

“Kick their asses?”

“So hard.”

The Magicat chuckles, curling her face into Adora’s neck.

“Of course you did.”

Adora shrugs. “What can I say? I’m beefy.”

Catra laughs louder. “You’re ‘beefy,’ huh?”

She giggles. “According to Mermista, I’m Beefcake number three.” 

The girl rolls to the side and places her forearms on Adora’s chest, using the stack to rest her chin as she looks down at her face.

“Only number three? Better step up.”

Adora rolls her eyes. “Nature gave Huntara and Scorpia the advantage--not much I can do.”

“Time to play dirty, then. You know what they say--the bigger they are, the harder the fall. Kick ‘em in the shins.”

She outright laughs in the Magicat’s face. “You’re awful.”

“Just a little,” Catra says, eyes softening in their eye contact. 

Adora hopes she returns the gaze with as much affection as she feels in her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo ready to be done with classes so I can pump more of this out. Thanks for your support, folks!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day at the beach doesn't bring the fun and relaxation Catra was hoping for--it brings a living nightmare instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Huzzah!
> 
> Part 2 of the beach.

The Magicat reels backward, quickly covering her ears as the device goes off.

_"This_ is how she wakes up every morning? God, might as well crash a fucking car into the house.”

“Honestly wouldn’t work unless it happened right next to her.”

Catra scowls, turning the volume down on the sparkly phone.

Adora just smiles, wickedness rising to the surface. “ _Now_ do you see why this is an awesome plan?”

Bow is nervously wringing his hands together on her right but even _he_ is grinning like a child. 

Everyone else got up _two hours ago_ , but Glimmer is still knocked out in the guest room. She wakes up (well, as much as she can) every morning to death metal, but they happen to be traveling with a metal band, so…

Catra pulls her guitar out of its case, fangs bared in her smirk as she drags a portable amp up the steps.

Adora does her best not to trip over herself in excitement as she follows after her, Bow in tow with his phone at the ready. 

They don’t try too hard to be quiet as they enter the room--she’s practically _hibernating_ anyway--but Adora and Bow keep smooshing hands over each others’ mouths, _so_ close to completely losing it and ruining it for themselves prematurely as Catra plugs in the amp, winds the volume up high, and turns distortion to _nasty_. 

The Puma throws her head over her shoulder, giving them a nod before Bow hits record, shoving the sleeves of his oversized hoodie in his mouth to keep him muffled while Adora bites into her fist.

It only takes seconds for the two to go weak at the knees, leaning into each other to keep upright as they cry out.

Catra lets out a high-pitched screech and pounds her claws into the strings, rapidly chugging the guitar in violent rhythms and minor chord changes. And when Glimmer’s eyes fly open, body convulsing in surprise and tangling itself in the sheets, Catra rips down the frets into an ear-piercing octave that has the pink-haired girl flailing out of bed, wrapped in the comforter like it’s a straight-jacket. She’s still noodling when Glimmer manages to flop over on the floor, staring down the three in pure hate. 

Sleeping beauty has started yelling obscenities, but Catra covers them up with something akin to scatting but with unclean vocals. 

“You stupid motherfuckers!”

“Skidilly swee-dop a-doo-bop, _blegh!_ ” 

Adora’s given up standing and has fallen to the floor, crying out silent sobs of laughter.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I swear to--”

Catra interrupts with a pig squeal before harshly cutting off her guitar and silencing it. 

“That’ll be twenty dollars, Sparkles.”

Glimmer screams.

  
  
  


Thirty minutes and a dressed but exasperated Glimmer later, they’re still laughing.

Bow has dried tear tracks on his face, Catra’s shit-eating grin is becoming permanent, and Adora’s body keeps locking up in silent laughter. The others are amused, too, and Glimmer’s threats are a roller-coaster of being tired or _actually_ terrifying.

“Come on--you have to admit it was pretty funny.” 

“You’re gonna regret this, _kitty cat_.”

Catra scoffs. “Sure, Sparkles.” 

“I’m gonna rip your eyes out and use them as golf balls.”

Mermista chokes on the drink she’s currently sipping and Kyle actually reaches over to cover the Magicat’s eyes as if his hands will stop a homicidal, angry Glimmer _._

“How about we figure out today’s plans before tiny mutilates our vocalist,” DT suggests with just a hint of urgency. 

“Fantastic idea,” Sea Hawk shouts, perpetually allergic to inside voices. “The sea calls to me!”

“Oo! Me too! Perfuma and I are going to go surfing! Does anyone want to join?”

Catra grins. “I don’t think anyone’s gonna third wheel that.”

Perfuma turns as pink as her swimsuit. 

“We’re still down for a rematch, though maybe after Glimmer cools off,” Lonnie sniggers, nudging Rogelio. 

“We might join you later,” Huntara says, nodding at Tung Lashor. “But after we spar and I redeem myself. You in, blondie?”

Adora cracks her knuckles. “You’re going _down_.”

“Remember: _shins_ ,” the Magicat whispers to her.

She laughs.

“You like fresh fish, Pussy Cat?” Netossa grins over Adora’s shoulder. 

Catra’s ears perk up on _fish_ and Adora has to cover her mouth to keep from giggling.

_So cute._

Kyle squeals over her shoulder. “Please tell me we’re eating fish. _Pleeaaase._ ”

Mermista laughs. “If we catch anything good. I’ll clean if you cook, Prince.”

When the Magicat’s eyes dilate, a _ha_ slips past Adora’s lips. Not that she notices--her mind is _clearly_ preoccupied. 

“ _Deal_.”

“We’ve only got six life vests so the boat’s maxed at Sea Hawk, Netossa, Spinerella, Catra, Kyle, and I. I’d offer my spot elsewhere but _someone_ has to make sure Sea Hawk doesn’t set the thing on fire.”

Kyle stills and Catra wrinkles her brows.

“Boat?”

“Well, of course! How else are we going to catch the best fish?” Sea Hawk interjects. 

The Puma grumbles, looking over her shoulder at a newly-nervous Kyle.

He wrings his hands, thinking under Catra’s attentive gaze.

“Fish sounds really good, so maybe--” he pauses, searching the Magicat’s face.

Adora tries not to allow her concern to show so easily on her face.

_Catra hated water growing up so she probably still does, but what’s up with Kyle?_

The Horde crew are on the edge of their seats but the others don’t seem overly concerned.

_What the fuck is going on?_

She’s nearly tempted to burst out the question there and then. It definitely sits on her tongue like acid, begging to be spit out for some relief, but she keeps her mouth shut. It’s weird--the initial tiptoeing to even stay here and now this? Adora is definitely noticing something Bow, Glimmer, and all don’t, but now’s not the time to raise the question. At least not while everyone’s here.

_Later_. 

Catra turns back around.

“Only if we don’t get wet.”

“No promises,” Sea Hawk winks. “The sea is its own beast!”

“It’s the _ocean_ , dude,” Netossa deadpans. 

“Well _she_ does as she wills. Do not fear, though! You have the best captain in all the land at your service.”

Catra looks ready to open her mouth again but Sea Hawk continues, cutting off her next thought.

“We’ll have yellowtail for days; rest assured!”

“Yellowtail?” Catra perks up.

“Certainly--it’s the best game _and_ the best eat. We’ll bleed the whole of southern California dry of them in hours!”

Kyle licks his lips, distracted from his previous nervousness. “Oh man, I hope so.” 

“Trust me,” Mermista smirks. “We will.”

  
  
  
  


“Jesus fucking christ!”

Sea Hawk laughs at an inhuman volume. “Advencha!”

He’s hollering way too loud in her sensitive ears for her tastes, but she also can’t really blame him--this is fucking _wild_.

The early afternoon had been well-paced, full of calico and sand bass, even a few decent sized halibut, but only small yellowtail. It made her and Kyle more at ease despite being out on the water, but so far the biggest they’ve caught has been eight pounds--the biggest fish in general, too, which had led to a solid hour of mustache-man pouting.

But then things amped up suddenly and Catra’s been trying to reel this thing in for the past twenty minutes, nearly being flung overboard when the line went taut so quickly. She immediately had to brace against the boat, pulling the rod back flush against her chest. Her foot hasn’t moved from its spot on the rail, trying to use the larger muscles in her leg to power the reel-in and keep whatever _bastard_ this thing is hooked.

Said _bastard_ takes off in a new direction and curses stream from her growling mouth.

“ _¡Te chingaré! Vete al inferno, pez malparido.”_

“Fuck his shit up, Prince!” Mermista yells, cheering behind her.

“Puss-y cat! Puss-y cat!”

She vaguely hears Spinerella chide her wife for the new nickname.

“You’ve got this, Catra!” Kyle’s voice cracks in excitement.

The fish is getting closer--so close that Netossa’s straddling the railing, net in hand and eyes locked onto the water--but the damn thing keeps taking more line when she finally thinks she’s won. Slowly, though, Catra _knows_ she’s winning and her determined snarl is shifting to something cockier.

“Would you like me to take over?”

She’d bite his head off if she were more skilled at multitasking. 

“ _¡Cállate la puta boca!_ ”

Sea Hawk audibly gulps.

“I can see it!” Netossa shouts.

And sure enough the bastard breaks the surface, eliciting a rare “holy shit!” from Kyle.

It’s only in the air for a few seconds, but the short glimpse is all Catra needs to lick her lips in anticipation and commit to _murder_.

_You will be mine, you tasty fuck._

And when the net comes on board, Catra almost feels bad--he’s a _gorgeous_ specimen. 

Sleek, un-splotched silver underbelly, crisp yellow fins and streak through the middle, separating the silver from its deep, teal upper-body, and _big_. So big that as Sea Hawk holds the digital scale, his arms shake from effort to keep it aloft. 

“Jesus,” Mermista huffs, reading the final weight before turning around wide-eyed and grinning. “Prince, this guy is just under _fifty-three pounds_!”

Her own grin splits across her face as she pumps a fist into the air, letting out a loud _whoop_.

“Get a picture,” Catra says, pulling the fish from the scale. She shoves one hand into its gills for a good grip before gliding the other slightly above its tail to pull it to its full length. “There’s no way I’m waiting to brag about this.”

And she wastes no time letting the compliments and congratulations go to her head--this was a half-hour fucking endeavor and she’s _exhausted_ , so _duh_ she’s going to enjoy this.

_Keep them coming_ , Catra texts. _Your Prince demands praise._

_Incredible. Showstopping. A multi-talent--_ DT

_On a scale of 1 to 10, how jealous is Sea Hawk?--_ Lonnie

Catra responds _12._

_The ultimate hunter-gatherer--_ Rogelio

_Marry me--_ Glimmer _and_ Bow

And--

_You never cease to amaze me--_ Adora

Catra does _not_ blush, and quickly covers it up with a cough as Netossa and Mermista stare at her, eyes taking in the sudden shift in color.

“So?” Mermista raises an eyebrow.

“So what?”

Catra takes off her life jacket and sits back into the small booth in the hull, drinking a large gulp of water before ripping a huge bite out of a sandwich. 

“What did _Adora_ say, duh,” Netossa snorts.

Catra glares. 

“She congratulated me--just like the others, mind you. Read it yourself. You’re in the groupchat too.”

Mermista rolls her eyes. “You’re really gonna treat us like that, huh?”

Netossa leans up against her, pouting. “I thought we had something, kitty cat.”

Catra picks up a couple of carrots and throws it at them, one bouncing off of Netossa’s forehead and the other smacking Mermista in the nose.

“Rude.”

“Totally uncalled for.”

She laughs. “Why ask me, though?”

They stare agape at her. 

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

“We have _eyes_.”

Speaking of those, Catra rolls them, opening her mouth to talk but getting cut off as they continue to rant at her.

“We _see_ you two,” Mermista says, jabbing a finger at her.

“And you’re fucking _cute_ , but neither of you are doing anything about it. Why the fuck not?”

Again, she doesn’t get a chance to respond. 

“Like, I know we only met a few months ago and we’re Adora’s friends and all, but, like, I already love you, asshole.”

“Seriously! So talk to us, you dick.”

Catra’s laughs are practically hollers, and she can tell the others are struggling to not join in even though they’re mildly serious.

“Let me rephrase myself,” the Magicat says, repositioning. “Why _bother_ asking me?”

Mermista groans and Netossa shakes her head.

“I take it back. I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

Catra just laughs again, but this time they join her, dropping the angry pretense to smile happily while the Magicat stands to throw away her paper plate and then lean against the table.

She likes them--a lot, actually. They get along well and they’ve been really nice to her, and not just because of The Horde and who she is, but actually _who_ she is. It’s so easy to talk about stupid shit with them and it’s...nice. 

It’s nice. 

Really--Catra hasn’t made actual friends in a _while_ . Before she was famous, she was prickly as _fuck_ , and even during the first few years while the band took off she was struggling with her addiction and keeping it hidden, making her hugely off-putting on the personal level. And then when she grew up and got kinder, she was so centered in the spotlight that genuine people became harder to come by, so these guys?

Practically _unicorns_. 

So, well, maybe she should give them a little bit of a break, even if she doesn’t want to dig up everything. Fuck, she’s still trying to figure it all out _herself_ , too, but they aren’t being malicious; they just care, so--

“I know, alright?” Catra says, even volumed but relaxed--smile still present, just softer. “Everyone on this damn tour does.”

Mermista and Netossa soften too, patiently listening. 

“I just don’t have everything sorted, myself. There’s so much history and baggage and _feelings_ that I need to make sense of first, not all related to her. Being in the public’s eye doesn’t help and after that mess on Twitter, I don’t want her mixed up in shit while I’m trying to figure _me_ out. But--” she pauses to smirk at the sound of Sea Hawk and Kyle yelling happily up on deck. “--if it makes you feel better, I already love you guys too, so just give me a break for now?”

Mermista grins, holding a hand to her chest in mock-surprise. “Oh my _god_ , you _love_ us?”

Netossa barks a laugh, pulling her into a rough hug. “Aww, kitty loves us!”

When Mermista joins, adding a “wow, I’m, like, _so_ blessed,” Catra snorts, putting up with the sudden barrage of physical affection. 

“I understand why you’re friends with Adora now. You’re all terrible.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

They’re still teasing her when she hears Kyle yelp upstairs, causing her ears to twitch a bit and flick Netossa in the nose. When she winds up for a sneeze, Catra pushes her back.

“Don’t you fucking sneeze on me!”

“Ugh, _gross_.”

She sneezes into her arm before throwing her hands up. “Don’t tickle my nose then!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t invade my personal space.”

She scoffs, but Catra’s ears perk up again to Sea Hawk’s muffled voice.

_This fish looks a little small. What do you think, Spinnerella?_

“Don’t say cute shit and we won’t hug you,” Mermista pokes back. 

_We should throw it back in._

_No! No, don’t! Don’t! Please!_

Her brows crinkle, pushing past the girls to go up and see why Kyle was yelling only to piece the picture together too late. 

Catra’s feet have barely hit the deck when she sees Kyle bundled up in Sea Hawk’s arms, eyes wide and terrified as he clings to the man’s shoulders, nails digging desperately into the life jacket, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, Sea Hawk hefts him into the air before walking to the railing, Kyle’s yells becoming _screams_ , and throws him overboard as a sobbed _no!_ ricochetes out of his throat and horror completely washes over her. 

  
  
  
  


Catra moves on instinct, the claws on her feet digging into the deck as she speeds toward him, her own scream echoing out from a place of fear.

“Kyle!”

She doesn’t even think before she launches herself out of the boat and into the water. 

The ocean races above her head as she splashes in, no life jacket to keep her afloat, but the second she breaches the surface, she can hear his strangled, petrified cries that immediately leach through her skin to chill her blood. 

Frantically, her limbs rip forward toward him, salty water stinging her eyes instead of the horrified tears that desperately want to spill over. Her heart is pumping over 200 bpm in her ears, providing an unwanted deafening bassline to the track of his hysteria and her panic as she moves as fast as she can.

His arms are hitting the surface in wild mania, but with the life jacket already keeping him afloat, it only pushes him _away_ rather than up, forcing Catra to make up more distance, and the tide isn’t working in their favor either--its rise and fall pulls him further from the boat and impedes her rapid attempt to get to him. 

When the distance keeps growing, she sucks in a large breath, going underwater to swim a straighter path without the obstacle of the waves.

In the back of her mind, the sensation of being surrounded by water brings back remembered and new panic, but she pushes the memories away, focusing on Kyle’s outline even as her heart beats a familiar, painful cadence she’s tried so hard to forget.

When she rises, pulling him into her arms, she barely gasps for air before she’s calling to him over his screaming, trying to bring him back to her mentally.

“I’m here, I’m here!”

Catra starts back toward the boat only to see Mermista at the helm, swinging it around their other side so that the tide brings them into their path. 

The boat’s only ten feet away--as close as she’s probably willing to get without risking colliding with them as the tide takes them along--but it’s okay; Catra’s on it.

Kyle’s sobbing in her ear but he’s above water and that’s what matters right now, so she keeps going to get him out of the water as soon as possible. 

With the tide now on their side and Catra’s legs working overtime, they get to the boat in under a minute, but it’s chaos on board as everyone yells, frantic to get them back in. Catra thumps against the boat, going underwater to get under Kyle and launch him upward, digging her claws into the boat’s siding for leverage. When he’s gone from her shoulders, she rises, gasping a breath and reaching to claw her way up, but she comes up further to the left than he did--right where Sea Hawk is throwing down a metal ladder--but it’s too late to shield herself or correct course so it smashes into her skull, sending her under again.

All the breath leaves her lungs and she sinks, sliding along the underside of the boat while she hazily tries to claw for purchase, but to no avail. Instead, the tide rips her along, choking her as everything blurs--just blue and streaks of sunlight breaking her line of sight. 

Her head throbs and spins or maybe _she_ spins as the ocean pulls her, but she can’t tell up from down so she flails poorly as more sea water slides down her throat. Repeatedly, she tries to orient herself, but the light is cutting through the water around her in a way where either direction looks like it could be right, the boat and the sun out of her fuzzy line of sight. It leaves her struggling in a sort of ambient state, slowly feeling her limbs getting deader, getting harder to lift in a way that matches the growing desperation of her lungs--so much so that she can practically hear her own heart _flatlining_ , but she’s too drained to do or think anything about it. 

Her brain can barely even register _maroon_ as the color flashes in her ruining vision--body barely even feel the arms around her or understand the sensation she feels is _rising_ before her head breaks the surface and her back is flat against the deck.

She’s still so out of it that she can’t even cough all the shit out on her own--someone has to practically punch her in the stomach to get her reeling, vomiting up so much ocean that her limited cognicience wonders if she took half of it with her. She throws up so much for so long that it feels like decades have passed by the time air finally tumbles down her throat.

She’s wheezing and still coughing when spindly arms drag her near, wrapping around her as the water clears from her ears and she can begin to make out sound that’s not the tide swallowing her.

And what she hears is _crying_.

_Kyle_ , her mind says, and she wants to move to comfort him but her body is still too dead to do anything but vomit and _breathe_ , so she lays there against her will as she slowly and painfully comes back to herself.

A few understandings slowly come to her as she readjusts. 

_Kyle’s_ _okay._ _Good._

That’s the first.

_I’m alive_.

The second.

As she comes to, sitting up to comfort Kyle, she gets her third.

_We’re heading back to shore_.

More like racing--the wind is flapping like crazy and they have to lean into the wall to keep from falling over.

Kyle is struggling to stay upright, so when she can breathe better, she slides behind him, pulling him against her so she can keep them up instead. 

Her grip around him gets tighter as her mind becomes more lucid, running the events through her head painstakingly slow and causing a low boil of anger to bubble the throbbing blood in her body, slowly consuming her much like the ocean did her as they near the shore.

  
Her claws fully extend, digging through the fur on her arms, and all she can see is _red_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you all for being very kind and veeery patient. I'm a professional sad boi and really just needed some time off from everything to take care of me for a bit. I did continue working on the story, though! I just needed more time to get this where I wanted it. 
> 
> What I really wanted was for this to all be one chapter, but length requires me to split it :( Hope you don't mind getting content sooner ;)
> 
> You guys have been so patient and not just on the timing of my updates--I've really took long form seriously. Promise, though, that we're getting so close to what y'all have been waiting for.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of the Beach.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major trigger warning on this chapter!!
> 
> From what I have planned this is going to be the darkest one due to the sheer amount of detail. Please mind how I've tagged this fic and any previous warnings I've given--this is an intense chapter. As always, it WILL get better, but we're getting to where this fic is hitting its lowest points. Please be careful!

The icy water is pleasant as it goes down her throat while she relaxes under the umbrella, hidden from the heavy-beating sun. Sweat drops dry against her skin and her muscles are glad for the break--she really needed it.

Sparring with Huntara and Tung Lashor is like wrestling with _bears_ if bears had better depth perception and a knack for strategy. Just thank god for the sand--it provided cushion when they all repeatedly fumbled or straight up got _dropped_ to the ground. Yeah, maybe Adora’s gonna be shaking the granules out of her ears for weeks, but her body aches pleasantly for the first time in forever, not to mention the utter _delight_ that came from knocking those pink and scaly mountains on their asses and wrapping them up in holds they weren’t flexible enough to break. Not that Adora didn’t also get her ass handed to her plenty of times--but that’s not here nor there, especially not when they’re also in the same state. 

Well, kind of. While Huntara lounges a few feet away with her earbuds blasting, Tung Lashor has positioned himself in the middle of a wall of metal sheets, drawing the sun _closer_ while Adora’s fragile, pale skin shudders. She’d sooner do the Polar Plunge than take his place, and he’d probably shudder in kind at _that_.

Ah, differences in anatomy.

Her phone buzzes--a sneaky snapchat of a turned-around Scorpia, back muscles on _full_ display under a sheen of ocean water from Perfuma further down the beach _gushing_ about the hybrid.

Adora chuckles under her breath, rolling her eyes and then feeling hypocritical when she taps to open their groupchat to save the picture Catra sent earlier. 

She’d have done it on the spot if she wasn’t taking a quick break from sparring but she only had the chance to respond. Now, she unabashedly makes it her new homescreen, leaving the picture from the ballgame on the lockscreen so if the device went off in front of someone, they wouldn’t have an easy way to make fun of her. Homescreen gave her a chance to look at it every time she opened her phone, and who wouldn’t want to be greeted by a stunning picture of a beautiful, talented Magicat? For heaven’s sake, Catra’s Aphrodite incarnate--well, maybe an Aphrodite/Ares lovechild, but the point stands that the Puma’s a _goddess_ with the sun glowing around her tanned fur, fanged mouth upturned in wide joy, and mismatched eyes looking into hers even in a still picture. Maybe a fish pic is a straight boy Tinder faux pas, but anyone who’s not captivated by this surely isn’t worth Adora’s time.

Not that she wants people looking, now that she thinks about it.

She likes having this between them and her friends--it’s a private pleasure, and the only people who’d dare look over her shoulder while she’s on her phone are here and will surely tease her once they see it, but whatever. A few jokes for daily glances of happiness? Adora would make that trade a hundred times and then a hundred more for good measure. 

She’s startled out of her lesbian thoughts when the device buzzes in her hand, caller ID popping up and causing her to lift a brow.

“Uh, hello?”

“Hello, dearie. A squirrel told me I should call.”

Adora lets out a huff. “A squirrel?”

“Yes, is that not what I said? Madame Razz thinks you should listen better.”

Adora laughs. “I heard you, I just--”

“Mara, open your mind--the universe speaks to use in many ways.”

Inwardly, she snorts.

_Yep, checks out._

“Okay, Razz. My bad.”

“Obviously, dearie. How are you? How is everyone? Is Rogelio taking his supplements? Has Lonnie found anything shiny for Razz? Is Kyle eating well? He eats too much sugar, that boy. And still so skinny! As long as he’s brushing his teeth. He goes to the dentist too often for a man in his twenties. Wait, what was I saying?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Adora chuckles. “We have a few days to relax so we’re at Mermista’s beach house.”

“Beach?” 

Razz’s voice is slightly lower and noticeably less peppy, putting Adora on edge once again that day.

“What’s up with everybody and the _beach_? There’s been so much tip-toeing but nobody’s explaining! Like,” she sighs, “I don’t mean to sound like a jerk but I just don’t understand.”

The older woman hums. “So you _do_ listen. It’s not a thing they talk much about. The beach in itself is not the issue--it’s what comes _with_ the beach, dearie.”

Adora groans. “What does that mean?”

But another question hits her ears instead of an answer. 

“What the hell are they doing?”

Huntara has risen from her spot, earbuds yanked from her ears and eyes fixed dead ahead. 

She turns her own head, looking past the stopped volleyball game and across the ocean to find the fishing boat speeding straight toward the beach rather than the dock a few hundred yards down from them.

“Uh, I think I’ll have to call you back, Razz.”

“Yes, you will. Be kind to her, Adora.”

She slides her phone into her pocket, rising from the towel and moving toward the water line next to Lonnie.

“What’s going on?”

The girl frowns deeply in return. “I don’t know. Anyone have any missed texts or anything from them?”

_Fuck_ , Adora thinks, panic rising in her chest. _Is someone hurt?_

Everyone is frantically checking their devices, brows creased and lips parted, but no one says anything.

“Surely they’d have called one of us if something _happened_ ,” she stresses, nerves holding her back from speaking _ambulance_. “Right?”

She gets silence again, and it rings in her ears as they stretch to hear anything to give her a clue--sirens, screaming, _call 911!_ , anything--but she only hears the waves crashing against the shore and the thrum of the nearing, overworked engine.

“No one’s answering,” Lonnie mumbles, creasing her brow as Rogelio approaches. 

_"They’re not that far off and I don’t smell blood in the air. Do you think that maybe--"_ he cuts off his signing, nervously glancing at Adora and dropping his hands.

Lonnie’s eyes go wide. “But there’s no way they’d willingly get off the boat, right?”

Rogelio frowns, turning toward the boat that’s close enough to make out the figures on-deck.

Yet nobody is really in sight--just Mermista, determined behind the wheel and laser focused as she drifts the boat to the side, maybe only twenty or thirty feet from the shore.

Adora’s panic goes down for a moment--no one is screaming for help or shouting anything that’d indicate serious injury--but she can barely catch her breath before people rise from the deck.

“Catra dear--”

The Magicat growls at Spinerella, arms around Kyle who’s clutched tightly against her body--completely wrapped around her torso as she flies over the edge of the boat and into the water, quickly moving her legs to get back onto the beach. 

Sea Hawk follows, face the most worried Adora’s ever seen--features drooped, eyes wide and shimmering as his lips quiver.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry--” he says, following after them and reaching out a hand.

Adora barely sees fangs bared before Catra swiftly flings around, ripping water around her in an arc of fury as her claws extend. Sea Hawk barely dodges not just being scratched, but _marred_ across the face. The hiss she grits out is loud and furious and even with her back turned to Adora, she can tell that the Puma is _seething._

When Catra returns her haste toward land, Adora finally notices that the both of them are soaked and her hair and fur has been completely flattened down, water dripping in long streams off her chin and elbows, and her blue and gold eyes have reddened with the sting of salt water.

She’s so shocked by the hatred radiating off her and Kyle’s sobs that she’s too stunned to move, even when the Magicat hands him off to a rushing Rogelio, who has to _peel_ him from her before she falls to her knees in the sand and vomits up a half gallon of water. 

Catra’s still vomiting when Lonnie races down from up the beach with several towels, throwing a few at Rogelio before she slides next to her and wraps her shivering body.

“What the fuck happened,” she growls, braids flinging over her shoulder from the speed at which she rises to her feet, pulling the Magicat with her.

Catra hisses again, snarling as Sea Hawk gets closer and extending her claws before getting struck with another fit of vomiting. 

Rogelio sees this and doesn’t hesitate to lift the now coughing girl into his arms, trudging past the others without so much as a word--only a narrowed brow, and a slight, angry split of the mouth, revealing the sharp tips of his teeth. 

Rogelio _never_ gets angry, and with the distress she’s feeling watching them suffering from _something_ , Adora feels her own blood begin to boil and her fists clench tightly.

She steps forward next to Lonnie, walking directly into Sea Hawk’s space and putting her face close enough to his that his shoulders hunch and he cowers.

“What did you do?”

A tear actually slides down his face. “I--I fucked up quite badly. I didn’t realize but I should’ve and I’m so sorry.”

Mermista looks pissed, too, but she pulls him back slightly behind her.

“Oh yeah, he _super_ fucked up and it shouldn’t have happened, but scaring the piss out of him isn’t going to make any of this better.” 

“From my perspective,” Spineralla starts, appearing at his other side, “it looked like he was just trying to have some fun with Kyle but it went horribly wrong.”

Netossa rubs her temple while her other arm wraps around her wife. 

“Explain,” Lonnie grits through her teeth. 

Mermista steps forward again, placing herself between them and Sea Hawk, straightening her posture, and letting regret and concern wash over her face. 

“Sea Hawk sent Kyle overboard and Catra went after him, but the tide took him further out and once she got back to the boat, we got him up but she got knocked under and nearly drowned. Sea Hawk had to dive in to bring her back up.”

Lonnie shoots forward, causing the man to flinch, but pincered arms wrap around her and pull her back.

“Go to them,” Scorpia’s low, strict voice commands before pushing her up the beach.

Lonnie sneers but breaks out into a run, following Rogelio’s footprints.

“Mermista dear, don’t protect me,” Sea Hawk whimpers. “This is all my fault. I threw him overboard as a joke, but he panicked, and Catra risked herself to get him back onto the boat and it was me _again_ who caused her to drown.” He drops his head, looking at his feet. “I was _cruel_ and then I made things even worse. I deserve this.”

Adora’s heart clenches in many places. 

She wants to knock Sea Hawk flat and then run to Catra and Kyle, but she also wants to hug him. He _knows_ he’s at fault and he risked drowning himself by going after Catra, but _fuck_ did he royally mess up and Adora doesn’t even know exactly _why_ \--just _how_.

The whole mess initiates a stabbing migraine in her skull and chest so she rubs her temples roughly, though it does nothing to alleviate the pain in her heart.

Adora’s about to open her mouth to respond when she feels a light weight on her shoulder.

“You should go after them.”

Scorpia looks just as serious as before, if not a little sadder. Her eyes and voice are the definition of somber and the shift is unsettling, but there’s still the strictness from earlier that’s hard to argue with--like she’s _demanding_ it in a way.

“Are you sure?” Adora gulps. She doesn’t want to fuck anything up any further. “I don’t want to--”

Scorpia shakes her head, cutting her off. “Go.”

Adora doesn’t hesitate again. 

She runs.

  
  
  


Kyle’s heaving sobs bounce around her skull, rebounding and smacking into her brain, bruising it while it shows the movie of a night years ago, putting her in the audience _and_ on-screen. 

It’s mixing present sounds with the past, and Catra’s caught both in her memory and in this moment.

The ghost of bony hands compressing hers is the only thing that keeps her grounded, and even still she feels in a daze. Like the ladder caused brain damage and she’s slowly bleeding out, muddying her last moments with a broken overview of her life, or rather being surrounded in dark, chilly water instead of giving her that birth-to-now cinematic experience, no light waiting for her.

Nope. The universe has never treated Catra so kindly, so what did she expect?

She doesn’t know what a brain aneurysm is like, but this sure feels like it.

_Not all things that happen to you happen to spite you._

Catra growls in response to the cat who sits nearby, eyes hyper-focused on her moving form.

She paces back and forth just outside Kyle’s shared bedroom where his partners have him wrapped up and they coo sweet, comforting things.

If Rogelio and Lonnie had their way, she’d be with them while they smoothed her hair gently and cleaned the salty water from her ruined fur. If Kyle had his way, he’d still be wrapped around her body like a baby chimpanzee, head on her chest and hands shoved into pulse points to make sure she’s still alive.

Catra needs _space_ though.

Kyle is okay. Everyone’s safe. Catra just needs to bring herself back down from wherever the hell she went.

Melog’s ears are turned backward, sympathetic to her chaos.

_You’re quite irate. Perhaps you should rest? Your pacing is only working you up further._

Catra _knows_ this, and she also knows that he knows that she has to do something, anything to shake the overwhelming adrenaline, anxiety, and fear from her bones. They electrify her nerves, sending painful messages along their channels, which is probably why her head is so fucked up. If she sits, they’ll stay with her and burn her as they charge further, then she’ll just be left in flames. At least the movement makes it more difficult to catch fire, though the rushing blood of a pending panic attack threatens to shackle her still.

The slow crawl of the attack’s heat sweeps up her throat, making her head feel like a pressure cooker.

_Everyone’s okay. Stay here, Catra. We have you._

His words warp as they travel to her, leaving her just with _stay_.

She freezes and a chill goes down her spine.

One word, and in a flash she’s bursting out onto the pavement, praying to God that it doesn’t follow her. 

  
  
  


Adora nearly throws herself into the tour bus. 

_If they were to go anywhere, they’d go_ here _. It’s familiar, comfortable. Kyle has his belongings and his clothes and Catra has her guitars. It’s a no-brainer._

She could tell she was right twenty feet away--soft cries echoing out of the bus and into the open air--but maybe not quite now that she’s boarded and she only sees three bodies, one of which she nearly smacks into.

Rogelio’s eyes are wide, features tense as he stares at her in surprise.

“Rogelio,” Lonnie gently shouts, trying not to disturb Kyle but yet frantic. “You’re going to lose her!”

The hybrid shakes out of it, signing quickly before pushing past her.

_"Catra ran_." 

“What?”

_"She ran!"_ He growls in impatience. " _We don’t have time to talk. She’s a lot faster than both of us."_

Swiftwind whines behind her, almost in agreeance.

“Which way did she go?”

_"North."_

“You stay here. I’m on it.”

Rogelio grabs her arm before she can turn and run.

_"No--"_

“You’ll never keep up. I might not be as fast as her, but I’ll stay on her trail. Swiftwind has a great nose, too.”

Red flies out of the bus and into her quickly opening arms, and when Adora looks up, Lonnie’s there shoeing her away.

“Don’t argue, she’s right. Take that jacket; she’s gonna be cold.”

When neither of them move, Lonnie snarls in impatience.

“Fucking go!”

Adora jumps, but sprints off, wrapping the jacket around her waist and thanking whatever God/spirit/entity above that she slipped on her shoes before she left the beach. The traction helps, and she needs whatever advantage she can get.

“Swifty, track Catra. Track Catra!”

He snorts, sniffing the air while they run.

“Good boy, c’mon!” 

She’s about to continue straight when the dog shoots left, sharply taking off down the road that way.

Adora bites her lip, hoping he’s on her and not leading them to Bum Fuck Egypt. 

“Remember: Catra!”

And with her heart beating so fast, she loses her grasp on the concept of time.

It feels like five minutes but it’s probably one, maybe even thirty seconds before she gets confirmation that Swiftwind’s not after a squirrel.

“Yes!”

A sign for the beach on the side of the road ripped down, long claw marks torn through the post and up the back, and splinters heading westbound. 

Swiftwind jumps the drop from hill to new ground while Adora slides down it, trying her best to maintain speed despite the sting of rock against her leg. His way is faster, but she works double time to catch up, and it’s barely--he’s still a good ten feet ahead of her--but he has to slow to weave through the woods that clog their path.

Good thing though?

They’re obstacles for Catra, too.

She didn’t seem to be a big fan of them either--the ground is covered with splinters and torn blocks with gashes in the trees along Swifty’s path. 

_They’re not breadcrumbs but close enough._

It’s a small miracle Adora doesn’t trip or run into a trunk as she steams gracelessly forward, but she manages to keep on her feet and Swiftwind in sight, not that it matters after a minute.

The damage to the trees has significantly increased--any scrawny ones have been felled and their elders have deep wounds torn from them, their guts spilled out in large mounds. The further she goes, the bigger they get, evolving from chunks to longer planks or thin shreds where claws raked holes through the center of the trunks.

Her soft panting fills her ears, but Swiftwind has stopped, and as she nears his side, the battle cry of a Magicat sings to her while more trees lament.

Catra has made a small clearing out of this patch. Tens of aspens have been kicked, punched, or flicked over, snapping like toothpicks under her fury. A nearby oak looks like a beaver nibbled it down, but the height of the damage is too great for them to be the culprit. Without a doubt, the Magicat used her claws like an angry lumberjack to fell it, along with a few others. 

Now, though, she has targeted a thicker opponent--one with a diameter of maybe four feet. Her claws are like piranhas on a meal, carving out a large crater of the great oak bit by bit. She shows preference with her front claws, but a few times she kicks out with her feet, leaving thicker marrs that’re soon erased by faster, tinier ones. 

Melog is several feet away and _mrows_ when he sees them, causing Catra to startle and whip around with a hiss.

“It’s okay! It’s just me,” Adora quickly bursts out before softening her voice.

Catra glares, her dilated eyes staring her down cautiously. 

For several seconds the Magicat stays still, but slowly over several more she itches under pent up energy. When she can’t seem to take it any more she swings around, punching the remaining wood from the center of the oak.

Adora winces, watching splinters--likely not the first--barb into her knuckles, causing them to bleed more. Her blood is all over the trunk, dripping down her hand and into the grass where she stands, heaving great breaths.

Swiftwind lays down and whines, but Adora makes careful steps forward. She inches, stepping on twigs to make some soft noise so she doesn’t startle the Puma, who doesn’t hiss at her approach. But a few feet from her, Catra’s body tenses and Adora stops.

“It’s just me, Catra,” she whispers almost pleadingly.

The girl’s face shifts from angry to something grumpy--pissed and confused and unsure and just _fed up_.

Adora waits until she lifts her gaze before moving closer again and when she does, she does so slowly until she’s toe to toe with her.

She wants to wrap her in her arms, comb her fingers through her short hair, drying in wild curls and no doubt tangles. Her fur is in the same state and it doesn’t look pleasant, but Catra clearly has other things going on that pain her more. Adora doesn’t want to startle her or smother her too soon, so she gently lifts her hands before resting them softly on the Magicat’s biceps. 

“Hey,” she breathes and maintains eye contact with burning mismatched eyes. Their intensity is uncomfortable and furious, but Adora stands her ground, doing her best to appear non-threatening and concerned.

“What happened?”

Adora already knows, kinda, but it’s a better question than _are you okay?_

Catra’s eyes gray quickly and her features droop like she was suddenly struck with exhaustion, which probably isn’t unlikely.

Adora chooses this moment to slide her hands to her back, step closer, and pull the still-damp girl against her.

Catra allows it. She doesn’t hug back but she does drop her head onto Adora’s shoulder. She breathes in long, deep breaths, sinking further into the embrace and relieving some of Adora’s anxiety. Not that her anxiety is _all_ gone--no, until she gets an answer her body’s gonna be pumped full of cortisol and her mind is going to race, like _triathlon_ _race_ through all of the possibilities of what could possibly be taking this to the nth degree.

Still, Adora tries not to move around too much and focuses on the Magicat instead, who is increasingly leaning with more of her weight against her. 

When it gets to the point that Adora’s practically holding her up, she slowly eases them to the ground without breaking contact, pulling Catra into her lap so she can relax better. And it isn’t ideal--no, she’d much rather be tucking her into bed because she _clearly_ needs rest, but her mental state has precedence so instead, she waits.

Catra seems reluctant to talk. She doesn’t even acknowledge the question. She sits silently, here but not and leaving Adora feeling kind of desperate to _do_ something. Maybe she senses this, though, because she sighs and repositions, bringing her head from under Adora’s chin upwards to rest on her shoulder closer to her ear. If having mercy on Adora is what brings her back to the moment, she’ll take it--it’s better than nothing. 

At first she just huffs, exhaling a soft puff of air into her ear that makes Adora twitch. She _humphs_ in response, and takes another moment before opening and closing her mouth a few times.

She shivers slightly, and Adora unwraps the jacket from around her waist to put it on her. 

“Better?”

She nods against her.

A beat, and then Adora opens her mouth. “I know you’re not _okay_ okay, but I’m glad you’re okay,” which, of course, doesn’t make any fucking sense, but before Adora can chastise herself, the Magicat hums her agreement.

Adora risks a step further. “Kyle’s okay, too. So’s everyone else,” pause, “though I’m not entirely sure what happened.”

For a moment, it doesn’t seem like Catra’s going to respond--she just stills slightly against her--but Adora nearly jumps when she hears her soft voice.

“Kyle will be fine,” she mumbles. “He’s very forgiving.”

_But you?_

She nearly asks it aloud but wills her mouth shut to choose different words.

“He always has been. Kinda like you’ve always hated water.”

It’s an invitation to talk further, but the Magicat could leave it as a statement if she wanted to. Maybe she nearly does, but Adora gets the feeling she’s just gathering her bearings. 

“Hate is a stretch, at least for when we were kids. I hated it for what it did to my fur and hair. Then I got a better reason to hate it. And so did Kyle,” she mumbles the last part. 

Adora glides a hand up and down her back while her brows crease.

_So here it is._

“Yeah?”

Catra nods again. “Yeah. I-” she stops. “ _We_ don’t like to talk about it.”

Adora hums in acknowledgement, hoping she’ll go on.

“Lonnie, Rogelio, and DT know, obviously, and so does Hordak and the crew.”

_Which explains the weird looks and comments._

“The coverup wasn’t easy--obviously they couldn’t prevent _everything_ from getting out, so it’s well known in some circles, but you’ve gotta dig on tumblr and reddit to find it. Scorpia and Hordak did a really good job getting lawyers on it, and our interview contract has a very specific ‘no asking’ policy, so none of us are on record having talked about it.”

Adora has an idea where this is going but she still needs confirmation.

“What is ‘it?’”

Catra drops her head onto her shoulder.

“How I attempted suicide.”

  
  
  


“Earlier that day, we had our last studio recording.”

“Yeah, I--Man of the Year, right? It was kind of your--well, uh--”

“Suicide note? Basically, yeah.”

The Puma huffs, taking a moment before snuggling into Adora’s neck.

“I finished up vocals in the evening in Ann Arbor, and then we were gonna wrap up release details with Hordak. I came up with a lie--said I wanted to be there when they finalized the mixes, go over them alone to make sure I could focus and make notes, maybe even tweak shit. I told them I’d meet them later but obviously that was a lie, too. They still gave me the space I asked for, though Lonnie knew something stank.”

  
  


Her brown eyes weren’t just distrustful--they were _angry_ , like the mere suggestion of leaving her alone to do some work was moronic. If Catra wasn’t so determined she might’ve cracked under the gaze and come up with a new plan later on. She probably thought Catra wanted to get rid of them before her dealer came over. They’d scared off tens of them by then, but she always found a new one ready to jump for the cash. Of course, that wasn’t the real reason, so Catra had a backup plan.

“DT, you wanna hang around for a bit while I wait? Give the others some time to say hi to Auntie Jackie.”

Rogelio snorted and DT rolled their eyes, plopping down in one of the executive seats in the studio.

“I’d _love_ to babysit you, Kitten.”

Catra raised a brow at Lonnie, who grunted in response.

“ _Fine_. But you’re showing up at Hordak’s no later than 11.”

The Magicat rolled her eyes, giving a mock solute. “Yes, _ma’am.”_

“Asshole,” Lonnie grumbled before walking out.

Rogelio lingered, patting her shoulder with a clawed hand before following, and Kyle jumped her to give her a hug that lasted an eternity.

She almost felt guilty as she hugged him tight, trying to make the moment count because it’d be their last one, but not wanting to give away her intentions. Catra could tell after he bounded off that he stopped in the doorway to look her over, but she ignored him and fixed her gaze on DT.

  
  


“It took a lot to play it off, especially since DT was watching, I had to be sure to keep the act up. Maybe they bought it, maybe they didn’t, but they didn’t say anything while I played through the rough mixes. 

At least, not at first. 

Maybe we would’ve sat there until it was time in complete silence,” she pauses, fangs biting into her bottom lip. “--but I fucked even that up.”

  
  


It didn’t take long for the jitters to start. 

Catra had been able to power through during recording since she was preoccupied, but now that she was almost fully present in her mind, she became increasingly more aware of the fact that her last pill had been in the morning. There just wasn’t a good time to sneak one in the studio--not while everyone was watching, and _especially_ not while Lonnie was there. But now?

DT was on their phone, slightly spun away from her as they cooed into the mic with that smooth voice of theirs, no doubt charming the pants off the person on the other end--which was likely the goal.

They seemed enraptured in the conversation, chuckling and laying out remark after remark, and when they finally spun completely away from her, Catra quickly dug her hand as silently as possible into the fake pocket of her bra, slipping out the green pill to place it on her awaiting tongue.

But she didn’t account for the shiny reflectiveness of the glass in front of them, nor the equipment on the opposite wall or the picture frames that hung there, glinting slightly with her movements. 

In one rapid spin, DT had slammed the phone onto the desk and ripped their hand across the distance between them, snapping her wrist into their painful grip.

For a minute, she just sat there shocked to complete stillness.

DT did not say a word, did not emote, did not _blink_ , and Catra’s fur had almost completely bushed out by the time their lips parted.

“You know, it took me awhile, but I finally figured you out.”

Her ears quickly shifted backward and her shoulders tensed.

“People have hurt you, haven’t they?”

“What--what are you--”

They just gripped harder.

“They didn’t believe in you.”

“Stop,” she whispered.

“They didn’t trust you.”

“Stop it!”

“They left you.”

The breath left her lungs, and DT yanked her to her feet.

“But did you ever stop to think that maybe they’re not the problem?”

They released her, and she fell to the floor onto her backside.

“You blame everything and everyone for your misfortunes and don’t take accountability, and then you push the people who try to help you away.”

Her eyes widened. “Why are you--”

DT kneeled in front of her, swiping the pill from her fingers.

“It’s for your own good, darling.”

Their hand tilted, and time slowed as the pill dropped to the floor before being crushed unceremoniously under the heel of their boots. 

“Is this really who Catra, beloved superstar,” they said with mock flair, “wants to be? It’s pathetic, really.”

DT kicked the green powder, scattering it before stepping away from her.

Her head followed them to the doorway where they stopped.

“So much potential, and you’d rather be a liar and a bad friend. Remind me; how many times have your ‘family’ watched as you’ve gotten your stomach pumped, hm? How many times have you checked out of rehab the next day or shone up to family dinners high as a kite?”

They turned their face back into the room, and it was blank save for gut-wrenching disappointment. 

“Such a waste.”

DT made to leave, but peeked back into the room where Catra had sunk to the floor.

“It’s not their job to fix and save you, miss damsel.” 

They clenched their teeth, then: “it’s yours.” 

  
  


“Catra--”

Adora jolts, arms wrapping around her tightly, protectively.

The blonde’s muscles have all tensed up, radiating an _anger_ that Catra only saw in moments where she didn’t like how the Magicat was being treated. She hated it back then, but she also loved it. Right now? Wasn’t the time.

“What? They weren’t wrong,” she snaps, then _tsks_ at herself before commanding Adora to _relax_ with a quiet but firm command.

“That’s why it hurt so badly to hear,” she reaffirms to a still stiff Adora. 

“But still, it’s not what ‘pushed me over the edge,’ or whatever. It took DT a long time to accept that. They meant every word--tough love and all that shit--but they didn’t mean for me to go and do that, which is exactly what they thought happened--not that I already had it planned. I only bring it up because it made me sloppy, and that’s why he found me.”

  
  


Sobs wracked the skinny Magicat’s body so hard that her teeth chattered, shoulders shivered, and eyes blurred the road ahead of her in the already dim light. 

Fewer street lights were out this way, shrouding Catra in almost darkness with only the occasional car passing by to illuminate her as she shuffled as quickly as possible to her destination. None of them stopped, and she thanked God for that--how the fuck would she explain herself in this state? It’s not exactly normal for a bawling hybrid to be walking past the park this late at night, especially one isolated in BFE, so it wouldn’t have been hard to put two and two together. 

When the bridge was in sight, she broke out into a sprint, nearly throwing herself over the railing in one swift motion when she got to the center, but something hesitated in her so instead of jumping, her torso smacked into the concrete, an _oof_ emptying her lungs as her ass hit the concrete. 

Catra thought about punching something, but she stopped herself--everything was way too solid and hard right here, and she didn’t want broken knuckles to distract her, so she screamed, too pissed off to ignore the sting of her butt and move on.

Running hands through her ratted hair, she paced, scratching and rubbing at her scalp to try and create enough comfort for her brain to work and follow her commands again, but it wasn’t any use.

_Pathetically_ , Catra still had a few pills stashed on her person, so the second DT left her alone, they were down her throat and in her system, confusing her thoughts with the panic attack that wanted to take her over. 

Nothing made sense after that, leaving her with pieces of her plan to tape together and execute. 

She could tell she got to the _where_ so she could mark off whatever number that was.

She left alone and _was_ alone, so check.

She left her phone there cuz Lonnie thought she was so fucking sneaky tracking her location--

Uncheck--the device was still in her pocket.

In a fit of rage, she pulled the thing from her pants, slamming it into the concrete where it shattered and split apart. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” She snarled, pushing her palms into her eyes.

Catra was _so_ screwed.

There’s no way Lonnie hadn’t noticed her absurd location by now, so she didn’t have time to take her time.

The Magicat swooped herself up, crouching on the ledge as her unstable body and mind teetered.

  
  


“I chose that place specifically,” She murmurs, rubbing her cheek against Adora’s shoulder to comfort herself. “I wanted somewhere less public with less of a chance of being seen, and I wanted a bridge that wasn’t too high from the water level--I didn’t want to die or get knocked out on impact.”

“Why a bridge, then, if--”

“Because I wanted to punish myself and I didn’t want to be able to back out.”

Catra flinches before Adora’s body has the chance to tense-up.

“What? Catra--Catra what the fuck does that mean?”

A tear sneaks out, rolling down her damp fur, and Catra quickly pulls back to wipe it away before turning, too ashamed to let her see her face.

“Catra,” Adora coos, heart breaking in her ears. “Why?”

The Magicat whimpers and a hand glides up and down her back.

She knows Adora’s trying to look at her and read her expression but doesn’t have the courage to turn back and truly lay it all out there. It’s too raw--too close to where she’s most vulnerable to let even her in. It’s too overwhelming on top of a story that always leaves her eyes fuzzy with panic, so she cranks her head further, choking on a sob.

“I hated myself so much,” she cries. “I wanted to make myself suffer for what I put everyone through, and that seemed like the worst thing I could do. But then--” she chokes again, “--then _he_ showed up, and--”

  
  


Teetering on the edge, she gave herself one last breath--a final gulp of pure, clean air for this lifetime. Despite her determination, her scared mind clung desperately to it, unwilling to just give into the torture the sick part of her wanted. But it was a long breath, and it seemed to last long enough for her hero to arrive, desperate to save the disgusting damsel she was. 

“Catra!”

The voice shocked her so badly that on instinct, she whipped around to find the source, though her heart already knew it was Kyle, but the violent action was more than her failing body could handle.

In slow motion, her feet twisted from under her, taking away her grounding and tipping her over as the small, pleading boy raced forward, eyes bulging in fear as they watched her fall over the edge. 

Catra had the audacity to think as she fell that he, in that moment, would be the last thing she saw, and the selfish part of her was glad for a final reminder that someone loved her so much. Yet the feeling didn’t last long--not when that moment wasn’t the last. 

He jumped over the ledge after her.

  
  


“Catra, no,” Adora cries softly, tightening her grip. 

Sobs fully shake her body and new liquid wets the thin fur of her face, streaming down like miniature versions of the raging river under the bridge that night. 

“He--he--” she fumbles, mouth not working the way she wants. “He couldn’t s-swim, Adora. And he, he still--”

“Shh,” Adora cooes again, trying to quieten her but Catra can’t stop.

“The current was so strong, and he’s so small, so he wasn’t strong enough, an--and he got disoriented but I-I couldn’t reach him, and when--when I did, the rocks--”

_Kyle, in her arms, then not when her back gets slammed into a half-submerged boulder, releasing every ounce of everything her body had except for her fear and the pills muddying her veins._

“He couldn’t--so I had to--”

_Throwing herself further down the current to get him back, ripping off his belt to connect the two of them--_

“But I was--I took the pills, so I was--”

_Raking her claws over anything, everything to get a grip, then pulling them onto the shore with broken arms and trying to get him breathing, and when he finally gasped, her mouth started to foam--_

“Catra!” Adora yells desperately. 

She sobs in response.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” she whispers, kissing the top of her hair and squeezing her fiercely against her.

“I--I’m so ashamed,” Catra wails into her chest. 

“I-I,” she tries to go on, explain how horrible she was for thinking that dying would be better for the people she loved than just _changing,_ how much of a monster she was for dragging such an angel into her pathetic misery, but Adora stops her again.

“Be ashamed!” Adora yells above Catra’s head. “Be sad, mad, happy, whatever--but be here! You being here is so much more important than what happened. You can’t take it back and you can’t stay there, either. I’m so sorry you got brought back to that moment today, but that’s not where you’re meant to be. Kyle loves you! He _never_ needed to forgive you; no one did. It’s not about what happened. It’s about you being _okay_.”

Adora heaves several rushed breaths. “You have a right to acknowledge those scars--especially so they can heal--but they aren’t who you are. You are more than your past, Catra. And when it gets hard, they’re here. What happened on the boat-- _I_ _’m_ here. And I’ll be here.”

Catra’s mind and body quake, but she listens. She’s crying, but she’s listening. She’s rewinding and playing the words over and over in her head, trying to make herself believe them. She wants to--finds herself almost agreeing, but it’s no magic-wand-act. They still don’t feel quite right though she’s heard them before. But maybe it’s not a matter of them being right or not--maybe it _is_ just a matter of believing. 

“You can feel guilty; I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings. But you’re not selfish for taking advantage of still being here when that’s all everyone wants.”

“Be here,” Adora repeats. “And God, be happy, and if not, we can work our way there. I’m not leaving. I’m here, and fuck, I hope it all goes up from here, but nothing, Catra-- _nothing_ will make me leave until we get there.”

“And after?” She croaks, heart vulnerable enough to let her insecurities speak without reservation.

“I’ll still be here,” Adora sighs almost like she’s relieved. 

Catra sniffles. “You promise?”

“Catra,” she cries. “This time--with all that I’ve got--I _promise_.”

She doesn’t know how long they sit there after that just crying and holding onto each other. It’s long enough for her to realize that even defenseless, completely open to damage, Adora’s not here with a sword--it’s just her, and it’s exactly what she needs.

So many of her wounds have healed since that day ten years ago, but not all healed equally. There are patches of thin, sensitive skin covering the old shape of a young blonde girl who was here one moment and gone the next. They ceased to bleed after a while, though her own self-sabotage ripped them open again. That was years ago, though. Now?

She was dependent on Adora for so many things in her youth. Time has brought her a healthier independence, and she’s grateful for that. Catra is strong enough on her own. But some wounds get infected, and some illnesses don’t have universal cures. Adora was, is, and will be the only antidote to those. 

Some things are not easily replaced--that’s just the way it is--but here in her arms with her hands so tenderly wrapped around her heart, her missing piece slots back in. 

  
  
  
  
  


“You smell like salt,” Adora whispers--her first words in probably hours, and it tells through her scratchiness. 

Catra tries to _humph_ grumpily, but she hums instead.

_Close enough_.

She can’t lie--she’s content, albeit exhausted. Yes, she wants nothing more than to pass out for the next 24 hours, but that’s secondary to being wrapped up in Adora right now. It’s the most comfortably uncomfortable she’s ever been and she’s not about to stop it. She doesn’t need to, though--not when honks come from up the hill on the road.

“I think that’s Scorpia,” Adora confirms.

Catra grunts acknowledgement, but neither move.

When the vehicle honks more insistently, both of them sigh, and Adora rises with her in her arms. Swiftwind barks happily as Catra gets set back on her feet and Melog purrs, rubbing against her leg before chasing Swifty in the direction of the road.

Adora giggles, and she lets out an amused breath.

“ _Idiotas._ ”

“You love them, though.”

She snorts. “Melog? Yes. That big, stinky beast? Debatable.”

Adora scoffs, but she’s smiling. “Wow, harsh!”

“ _Eso sí que es_.”

“Yeah, whatever,” she laughs, hand sliding from Catra’s lower back along her arm until it’s grasping her own hand. “You ready?”

She sighs. “Give me a moment?”

Adora nods with a soft upturn of the lips. “See you soon?”

For the first time in hours, she smiles, watching Adora go until she’s out of sight.

With a deep breath, she turns back to look at the carnage and almost feels bad for the trees. Or, well, she _does_ feel bad the more she thinks about it. 

They’re just trees, yes, but the mess in front of her is a gross reminder of how poorly she responded to her trauma.

_You’re allowed to be upset, Catra_.

She hisses back at the therapist in her head.

_Yeah, but not murder nature as a coping mechanism._

“Who’s the real _idiota_ ,” she grumbles, but takes in a deep breath.

No taking it back now--only moving forward, so she brushes the disappointment aside. 

_I’ll do better_ , she promises herself, straightening her back and shoving her hands into the pockets of the red, leather jacket.

She jumps when the knuckles of her right hand scratch against whatever’s in her pocket. With a _humph_ , it’s yanked out, but the sound quickly turns into a low growl. 

_Don’t settle for less--settle for the best_

_XO,_

_Swen Peekablue_

The business card--the one he gave her back in Seattle when he fucking _tormented_ her. She was wearing this jacket; he put it in her pocket.

“ _¿Te crees muy verga?_ ” Catra hisses with her teeth bared, curling her fingers to crush the card but stopping when she grazes the edge of something smooth.

_Tape?_

Her brows wrinkle.

_Wasn’t it just the card?_

She flips it around and her heart stalls, eyes blow wide, and mouth goes dry.

“Catra!”

She nearly jumps out of her fur, shoving it quickly back into her pocket as the blonde approaches.

“It’s been twenty minutes,” Adora says, frowning slightly.

_AKA is everything okay?_

Her body thrums with anxiety, tensing from her fingers, up her arm, and into her shoulders.

When she parts her lips to speak, no words come out, so she just stands there, a single pathetic breath leaking out.

If Adora notices a change, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she approaches her side, bringing her arm around her and moving her forward.

“Let’s go, okay? It’d probably be good to get you cleaned and brushed out, right?”

Catra nods sharply, letting herself be lead away while the pad of her thumb presses shakily into the tape securing the round, green pill to the back of the cardstock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough, huh?
> 
> Definitely give me your thoughts on this! I want to make sure I handled Catra's trauma with grace--I want the reader to know what happened but I can't stand the thought of romanticizing the bad stuff like some writers accidentally do. 
> 
> We've got one more major low point after this (as you can expect from the cliffhanger) but it will be resolved. This fic has major angst but it is also a happy-ending one; promise.


End file.
